The Night of the Forgotten Mind
by California gal
Summary: Artie goes undercover, but goes deeper than he expected... and Jim is his target!


**THE NIGHT OF THE FORGOTTEN MIND**

While Memory watches o'er the sad review

Of joys that faded like the morning dew.

— _Pleasures of Hope. Part ii. Line 45_, Thomas Campbell (1777-1844)

"That's some shootin', Al."

The man with the heavy dark whiskers holstered his shiny pistol and held out his hand. "So pay up."

"How about double or nothin'?" another man asked, younger and blonder, reluctantly digging into his pocket, as were the other two men involved in the impromptu contest just ended. They had lined up sticks and twigs of varying lengths and thicknesses at different distances from where the men stood outside the corral and taken turns trying to hit them on the quick draw.

Alvin Gaffney shook his head. "Don't know about you boys, but I don't like wastin' good bullets. I prefer to land them where they'll do the most good." He grinned, white teeth gleaming behind the dark whiskers.

"Well, that is what we've been hired for," the first man who had commented spoke up, handing over a few coins. "Sure wish the boss would get goin' with this job. I'm tired of hanging around." His name was Errol Fincher, a thin, almost bony man in his thirties with lank dark hair.

Alvin accepted his winnings and jammed them into his trouser pocket. "Be nice if he even told us what he expects us to do in this whole business!"

"Ain't that the truth," Errol nodded, pulling a toothpick out of his shirt pocket and sticking it in his mouth. Seemed the only time he was not chewing on a toothpick was when he was using his gun. "I got no problems helpin' him take over the territory if that's what his idea is. He's a secretive man, and I guess he's got his reasons."

"When he first hired me on, I thought it might be a train robbery," the younger blond man called Jackie commented. "But I learned quick that ain't it. We're a long ways off from any railroad what carries big money shipments."

"Yeah," Alvin chuckled softly, "the Arizona desert ain't exactly the mint."

The fourth man of the group spoke for the first time. He was older than the other three, with gray in his grizzled beard and curly dark hair, lines of wear and tear on his tanned face, and known simply as Puma. "Ain't our job to question, boys. We're getting' paid just to hang around here. The boss'll tell us what we need to know, when we need to know it."

"Ain't that the truth?" Errol repeated. "I don't suppose I got too many complaints other than being bored as hell. Pay is fine. Food's good. Bed ain't bad. And we can go into Lockjaw any old time. That reminds me. What about this evening?"

"Sounds good to me," Alvin nodded. _Glad you suggested it, Errol. Jim should be rolling in any old time._ "Think I'll go in and see if I got me a clean shirt. Dory has seen this one a few times!" The other men laughed, knowing that every shirt Alvin Gaffney owned was exactly the same, a blue gingham check. With a wave he turned and strolled toward the spacious bunkhouse, spacious because it had been built to accommodate at least two dozen men and right now less than ten occupied it.

Entering through the door of the building, Artemus Gordon glanced at the cloudy mirror over the stand at one side that the men used for shaving—if they shaved. He grinned at the reflection showing the dark-bearded man with the shaggy hair. _One of the easier disguises I ever affected._ Knowing that he was going to have to retain the guise of Alvin Gaffney for at least a week, and possibly longer, he had decided against any makeup or prosthetic.

After all, Alvin Gaffney was not a real person. He had been developed from Artemus's fertile brain when they worked on the plan for this assignment. Artie chose the initials A.G. for his new identity so that he would not be required to leave his favorite pistol behind. A letter from an anonymous person had informed the agency that one Giles Lytell was conspiring to take over the whole of Arizona Territory and perhaps southern California, as well as parts of northern Mexico.

Jim West had been startled when he heard the name during their meeting with Colonel Richmond in Sacramento. "Giles Lytell? I knew a Giles Lytell in Indiana years ago, before the war. He was a respected businessman. His son was in my university classes, and enlisted with us. Hugh died at Vicksburg."

Richmond had confirmed that the Giles Lytell in question was indeed from Indiana. An investigation had revealed that Lytell had sold everything he owned after the death of his son and moved to the southwest, buying property and virtually secluding himself on a large ranch. Although Lytell had lived rather quietly for the first five or six years, he now was known to be hiring gunmen, some who were living at the ranch, others in a camp in northern Mexico. His activities had been very quiet, unknown to the federal government, until the letter arrived in the Washington office of the Secret Service.

"We think he has at least fifty men so far," Richmond stated. "Seems to be keeping the best of the gun hands on his ranch, and may be training them to lead, though that's not confirmed yet."

The obvious ploy would have been to send Jim West in to try to hire on, but the colonel stated that their information also indicated Lytell had been keeping up with the activities of his former acquaintance. "Our informant stated Lytell possessed newspapers with stories about your activities. Both of you."

"But he's never met me," Artie had quickly pointed out. Both Colonel Richmond and Jim West had voiced protests, of course, but Artemus had been adamant. The pictures of him in most newspapers were not that clear. With some whiskers, longer hair, and a different demeanor, not to mention garb, he could easily pass himself off as a gun for hire. "I'm not as fast as Jim with a gun, but I'm faster than most others," he stated matter-of-factly.

Finally the plan was laid out. Artemus would become Alvin Gaffney, a gunman recently from the northwest who had headed south to get away from the heat he was lately feeling because of a couple of skirmishes with the law. He had drifted into the desert town of Lockjaw, got into a ruckus at the lone saloon and, after displaying his prowess with his weapon, had been taken to meet Giles Lytell.

That had been nearly a week ago, a week spent loitering around the ranch during the day, and often heading into Lockjaw in the evening for a few drinks and some card playing, not to mention hanging out with the trio of women who worked at the Scarlet Ribbon Saloon. A buxom blonde named Dory had latched onto the newcomer. Artie had encouraged her attentions because she also seemed to know everything that was happening in the region and liked to talk about it.

The next stage of the ploy was for James West to drift into Lockjaw, ostensibly on his way to Sonora, Mexico, on government business. He would somehow contrive to hear the name of his old acquaintance mentioned and call on him. Artemus knew that Jim was still somewhat skeptical that Giles Lytell could be involved in such a scheme. The Lytell he had known had been an honest man, a true patriot, though Jim admitted he had not talked to Lytell after the war because when he returned to Indiana briefly after the conflict ended, the businessman had already sold out and left. Jim had assumed that had occurred because of the painful memories Lytell would be experiencing after losing his son.

What would happen after Jim's arrival was pretty much up in the air. Artemus had some information to pass on, but none of it was solid proof yet. The hope was that Lytell might attempt to recruit Jim to his side, if indeed he was planning a coup. Artemus himself had not had that much contact with Lytell, other than a couple of meetings after the initial one, meetings that included all ten of the men currently residing at the ranch.

_And nothing much said. Nothing incriminating. Just vague talk about the work progressing, the time nearing. _Artemus stripped off his shirt and tossed it in a pile in the corner. Lytell had a couple of Mexican women working for him who did the cooking, cleaning, and laundry. They would gather up the soiled clothes and wash them in a day or two.

He found a clean shirt in a battered bureau, a blue-gingham loose-fitting shirt identical to the one he had just shed. Artie grinned as he remembered the comments of the other men when they noticed the newcomer owned several shirts all the same style and color. He had solemnly told them they were his "good luck shirts." None had questioned that philosophy, especially because one carried a lucky coin, another a lucky knife.

_With any luck, Jim will arrive today, tomorrow at the latest, and I will figure out a way to talk to him. Not that I have much to tell him, but he needs to know that. _Richmond was ready to send more men, undercover and in the open, if necessary. Frank Harper would be the next in line. In his guise as a gambler, he usually fit into circumstances like this quite well. More information was required before further moves could be made, information that Artemus Gordon and James West were supposed to garner.

After tying a scarf around his neck and tucking in his shirt, Artemus headed out the door. The men he had been shooting with were not in sight, but he could hear voices in the barn. Likely they were saddling their horses, so he headed that way. The double doors on the side of the barn were standing open, and as Artemus approached, he heard the whinny of an excited horse, and a man's angry shout.

He refrained from shaking his head in disgust, just as he had refrained from calling Errol out these last few days over his treatment of his pinto. A good horse gone bad because Fincher mistreated the animal constantly. Fincher believed in the whip, which only caused the spirited steed to react worse. _Jim could sure teach him a few things about handling a headstrong horse._

"Watch it!" someone yelled just as he stepped into the dim interior.

W*W*W*W*W

Jim West dismounted in front of the stone building bearing the sign "Sheriff's Office and Jail, Lockjaw, Arizona Terr.," tied off the black stallion to the hitching rack, and went up to the door. He found it locked. An old man ambling by stopped long enough to inform him that they had not had a sheriff for some years now. "Built that fancy jail, had one sheriff. He was so bored, he up and left. Ain't been the need to elect a new one. Quiet around here."

Jim's next question brought another laugh from the old fellow. Hotel? What would a town like Lockjaw do with a hotel? The widow Hatfield, big house on the west side of town, sometimes took in boarders. The only place in town to get a meal—other than from Miz Hatfield if one was boarding with her—was at the Scarlet Ribbon, if Jess Chaney was about. He was one of the bartenders and could be sometimes persuaded to cook a meal.

Jim led the black horse as he strolled down the street to the saloon, not a particularly large or impressive establishment, in keeping with the other buildings in town, and at this time of day, mid afternoon, not very busy. The bald bartender acknowledged to being Jess, and though at first reluctant to agree to cook a meal during the off-hour, he acquiesced as soon as Jim displayed a five dollar gold piece.

The steak and eggs were more than decent, though Jim idly wondered if that might be because he had not eaten since he rolled out of his bedroll before dawn in the cool Arizona desert. He also had an opportunity to talk to one of the women in the saloon, a blowsy blonde who introduced herself as Dory and sat down at his table without invitation. She proved to be a talkative sort who did not need many prompts.

Dory brought up the name Giles Lytell on her own, saying he was the biggest landowner and wealthiest man in these parts. The mention offered Jim the opportunity to wonder if the rancher could be an old acquaintance of his. Dory didn't know whether Lytell came from Indiana. Didn't know a whole lot about him, grumbling that he was a widower who never gave the women in the area a chance at him. "I bet I've only seen him two, maybe three times, since I come to Lockjaw couple years back, only said hello to him once."

Dory also talked about her boyfriend, handsome Alvin Gaffney who worked for Lytell. Jim expressed interest in meeting the fellow, and was assured that the Circle L boys would probably be in town tonight. They showed up almost every night. "Don't know where the heck they get all the money they spend on cards and drinks," Dory opined, "but that ain't none of my concern, I guess, long as they spend it here!"

"If they work on the Circle L," Jim commented easily, "I presume they're receiving wages."

"Oh, heck no! I mean, they ain't cowhands. The Circle L don't run any cattle anymore. Mr. Lytell never was much of a cattleman. I wasn't here when he came to Lockjaw eight, ten years ago, but I hear he came with a lot of money but never bought any cows to speak of and sold off what was already there. Just all that land and ten-twelve men hired to work on it. Well, actually, I guess it's just been the last year or so that he hired so many men. Could be he's thinking of finally going into the cattle business. I don't know. Errol Fincher, he told me the boys out there just hang around doing nothing most of the time."

When he departed from the Scarlet Ribbon, Jim slipped Dory a silver dollar to thank her for her company as well as to ensure her future good will. The slight possibility existed that she could be used as a go-between with Artie, if such a situation became a necessity. Mounting the black horse, Jim rode west and soon found the two-story house situated on the far edge of town, surrounded by cactus and sand.

The woman who opened the door to his knock was middle-aged and sharp-tongued, but she allowed that yes, she had a couple of spare rooms that she sometimes rented out—by the week, mind you, paid in advance. Meals and the stable for the horse were extra. Jim told her that although he expected to be in town only a day, two at the most, he did not mind paying for the week for a chance at a real bed and a home-cooked meal. "I'm told you're a fine cook," he fibbed. He had been told only that she served meals to her renters.

But the little white lie brought a smile and softened Mrs. Hatfield's tone as she led him up a narrow staircase. "This is the better of the two rooms," she informed him, opening the door. "Sure isn't the Willard Hotel, but I keep it clean."

Jim surveyed the small room with the narrow bed, single chair, and a battered bureau that served as a washstand as well. "This is fine. You've been to Washington, ma'am?"

"Born and bred there. My husband worked at the Willard, and I did too before we wed. Sam decided to try his luck out here… and died before we was settled in a year."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Like the fib, the sympathy loosened her reserve. "It hasn't been too bad. Taking in boarders from time to time makes it easier. I own this house free and clear. I lost one son at Gettysburg, but my other boy lives over near Phoenix with his family, and they come around time to time. Or I go there for a visit."

Jim smiled and thanked her, conscious that now she was warming to him, she could easily become like Dory, a real font of information. He told her he had eaten a late lunch and would not want supper. He planned to feed and water his horse in her stable, then ride back into town, probably not returning until late evening.

"I expected that," she nodded. "Ain't much to do in Lockjaw for the men-folk except that grubby saloon. Too bad. There was talk of the railroad coming through here once. I understand that's why the town was built here. Didn't happen. Town just hangs on because of the ranchers and cowboys in the area."

_A good place for a man to bury himself if he didn't want anyone to know his business_, Jim reflected as he led the satin black horse around to the rear of the premises and the small stable. _If it's true that Lytell is planning to attempt a takeover, was that his original idea in settling here?_

Jim realized that he was still having a difficult time thinking of Giles Lytell as a conspirator in such a plan, let alone an instigator. The letter, which Jim had seen, appeared to say that Lytell was alone in his planning but that was so hard to believe. Lytell had been a very successful businessman, owning several stores in the Indiana area, and well liked for his philanthropy and good nature. The library at the university had a whole collection named after him because Lytell had donated the money to acquire it.

_It would be good to talk to Artie before I approach Lytell. With any luck, he'll come into town tonight and we'll be able to find a way to get together. Need to find out what he's learned over this last week… if anything. We might be on a wild goose chase. _Jim West stared for a long moment at the currying brush he held in his hand. _I hope so. I don't want to have to arrest Hugh's father._

W*W*W*W*W

I construct my memories with my present. I am lost, abandoned in the present.

I try in vain to rejoin the past: I cannot escape.

— _Nausea,_ p. 50, Jean-Paul Sartre (1905–1980), French novelist, dramatist

Alvin Gaffney was a troubled man. He was also a hurting man. Sitting on the stoop of the bunkhouse in the morning sun, he gingerly felt the bump on his head, touching it through his thick hair, then winced. _Dumb thing to do. Whole thing is dumb. I don't think I've been so scared in my whole life. Then again…_

He sighed and looked down at the gleaming pistol in his hands. How was he to know whether he had ever felt this unsettled before? He could not remember anything. The other men here had to tell him his name when he woke up yesterday afternoon. They said he had been unconscious almost a whole twenty-four hours after been struck a glancing blow on the head by the hoof of that fellow Fincher's bad-tempered pinto.

Actually, the other young fellow, Jackie was his name, had confided that the pinto was not that bad a horse, just that Errol Fincher tended to mistreat him. Too dang bad, Jackie had opined, that it had not been Fincher who took the blow. He deserved it more. According to what Alvin had been told, he had stepped inside the barn just as the frantic, rearing pinto broke away from Fincher's grasp, and an iron hoof had felled him.

_Could have been killed I guess. But I don't know if this is any better. I try to think and it's like I walk into a brick wall. There's nothing there that happened before I opened my eyes in the bunkhouse yesterday afternoon. The boss fellow… Lytell?... said there isn't a doctor in a hundred miles. I don't feel so badly except for this headache and the awful sense of being without a memory of who I am, where I came from…_

They told him he had related upon his arrival that he had been living and working up in the northwest, Oregon and Washington. Things had gotten too hot there, he had said. Hot? Alvin shook his head slightly, and regretted the movement as the pain throbbed. The younger Mexican woman from the house had brought him a cup of strong tea of some sort earlier, and that had helped some. He might ask Juana for another cup later.

He stared again at the shiny weapon, inlaid with the initials, A.G. His initials, to be sure. But something was not right. He had been told he had been hired because of his skill with this gun, and that was okay. He felt comfortable handling the gun, and owned a sensory memory of it bucking in his hand. He knew he had fired it more than once. _But this gun means more than that. I just don't know what!_

Even his clothes seemed wrong. They fit. The boots were comfortable. The gun belt slid around his hips perfectly. The other men told him that all his gear was in that one drawer of the old bureau. He had not rummaged through that drawer yet, but just what he was wearing seemed amiss. The clothes and his face. The face he saw in the mirror did not look familiar at all, but the others told him he had arrived with a heavy beard and they had not seen him shave. What would happen if he shaved off that beard? Would he recognize himself? That was part of the terror he was experiencing. What if…?

Jackie and the older man, Puma, had sat with him for a long while yesterday afternoon, after his loss of memory was realized, telling him what they knew about him. Alvin had listened hard and tried to make sense of it. Why was none of it familiar? Nothing struck a chord, not even remotely. The only thing that seemed to ring some deep bell was this pistol. Why?

Puma had stated he had known a couple of other men who had lost their memories, one due to a blow on the head, such as Alvin experienced. The other one had been in the war, a young fellow who pretty much went crazy after experiencing his first combat and had no idea who he was or where he was. The one with the blow on the head never got his memory back so far as Puma knew. He did not know what happened to the kid.

_That's me. I don't know who I am. I wouldn't know where I am if it wasn't for these fellows telling me. I don't know where I was born, whether I have family or friends…. All I know is what they told me, and that is only what I told them. How much of it was the truth? If I'm a hired gun, like they say, did I fabricate some of it, hide portions of my past? Alvin Gaffney might not even be my name. It doesn't feel any more right than the clothes do._

Alvin heaved a sigh as he lifted his gaze toward the dry lands beyond the immediate ranch area. He could see the road that he was told led into a town from here, and on that road he saw a horseman. _Appears to be coming to the Circle L_, Gaffney mused. More as a way to take his mind off his own troubles, he watched the approach of the rider, and eventually made out a slim fellow on a gleaming black horse, a horse that required a strong hand at the reins, that was for sure.

_Fincher could learn from this man. He's letting that black horse have just enough head to let the animal think he's the boss, when it's the rider who's in command. Excellent rider, too. Ex-cavalry maybe. _

Alvin almost shook his head, halting the movement that might have caused new pain. He wondered why he would know anything about the cavalry. Had he been in the war? He had noticed some scars on his body that could have been bullet wounds. But a hired gun could have acquired those wounds in a different situation than a soldier would have.

Once entering through the gate that opened onto the main ranch area, a rider was required to cross in front of the barn and bunkhouse in order to approach the house. Thus this rider passed within twenty or thirty feet of where Alvin was sitting. A sober glance was cast his way, with a short nod of greeting. Alvin did not nod back. He just stared.

Jim smiled slightly as he turned away from the man sitting on the small porch of the apparent bunkhouse. He had not expected Artie to jump up to greet him, nor to acknowledge him in any manner. _Good to see he's alive and well, though. _After two days lingering in Lockjaw without the appearance of his partner, Jim had become concerned.

Primarily because Artemus had not showed up in town, especially because Dory and others in the Scarlet Ribbon were expressing surprise that the Circle L men went two nights in a row without coming in, Jim decided to ride out to the ranch. He knew that if he lingered too long, word might get to Lytell of his presence, and suspicion could be aroused. That is, if Lytell had any reason to be suspicious.

The ranch house was pretty much what Jim expected, a Spanish style adobe, all one story, with a small walled in patio in front, entered through a wrought-iron gate. He dismounted, tied off the horse, and pushed through that gate, noting a padlock hanging on the hasp that was not, fortunately, locked.

Reaching the heavy wood door, Jim rapped on it with his knuckles. Within a minute, a handsome Mexican woman in her middle thirties opened it. "Good day, senor. May I help you?"

"I was hoping Mr. Lytell was home. I'm an old friend of his. James West."

For just an instant, Jim thought she was going to say something as her eyes flickered ever so briefly. However, the woman simply nodded. "Please come in. Senor Lytell is in his study. I will ask if he will see you."

Pulling off his hat, Jim stepped inside, noticing the marked changed in temperature as the thick walls held off the Arizona sun. The expansive room was comfortably furnished with heavy furniture, a Spanish influence obvious in the colorful serapes and pottery displayed here and there. The woman took his hat, hung it on a rack, then departed through a door on the far side of the room.

W*W*W*W*W

No memories of felicity save with faint ruffle of sorrow.

— _Rockaby and Other Short Pieces_, p. 62,

Samuel Beckett (1906–1989), Irish dramatist, novelist.

Jim West could not help but compare this room, this home, to the large two-story mansion where the Lytell family had resided in Indiana, perhaps no more luxurious, but certainly more mainstream, decorated he had been told by Lytell's wife in the current fashion. He had known Mrs. Lytell briefly before her sudden illness. She died the same year he entered the university. Because Hugh had been the only child he had been doubly precious to his father.

"James!"

The man who strode in through the same door the housekeeper had used was familiar, yet different. As Jim extended his hand, he told himself that over a dozen years had elapsed, so seeing the snow-white hair and mustache should not be surprising. Yet the change was there, and it had more to do than simply the hair color or the fact that Giles Lytell was pounds lighter than he had been, a gaunt look to his mien now.

"Hello, Mr. Lytell."

Lytell grabbed his hand, and then wrapped both around it, his eyes gleaming. "James! I can't believe this! How good to see you. You haven't changed much, except to have matured. You were a handsome boy, you are now a handsome man." His gaze swept from the brushed hair down to the shining, though slightly dusty boots, touching on the black leather chaps.

"Thank you, sir," Jim had to grin. Being in the haberdashery business, Giles Lytell had always advised the young male friends of his son on their appearance, and had been an immense help to Jim West, who had not had such a male influence in his young life.

"Sit down! Sit down! Juana will bring something cold to drink. This is so amazing. Just the other day I was reading a newspaper article about you, and wishing I could see you again. Hugh always counted you among his best friends, James."

"And he mine," Jim replied, sitting in a large chair while his host took a broad divan nearby. "Over the years, I've thought about Hugh often. I never would have gotten through what I managed to accomplish at the university without his tutoring."

Lytell cocked his head slightly. "Did you return to finish?"

"No, I'm afraid not. After the war… well, my perspectives had changed a great deal."

"I imagine so. I imagine so. Ah, here's Juana."

The woman had entered bearing a tray holding two glass tumblers and a pitcher of pale yellow lemonade, ice floating at the surface. She poured the liquid, served each man, and departed. Jim took a sip.

"Ice, sir? In Arizona?"

Lytell chuckled. "One of the perquisites of having money, James. I have it brought down from the north. I simply cannot bear to be without something icy cold in this heat."

"Do you mind if I ask how you came to settle here?"

"Not at all. I roamed around a bit at first. I thought I would like California or the northwest, but did not feel comfortable either place. I was traveling through this area on my way to Louisiana, and the train broke down. It was some miles from here, but the entire region aroused my interest. I have no idea why, but I felt more at home in this arid, hot climate. Perhaps it was the ability to have a house like this where I can live comfortably, only going out into the heat when I'm in the mood."

"It's a beautiful home."

"Thank you. Tell me about yourself, James. As I mentioned, I read a newspaper article about your work not long ago. I have followed your career rather extensively. Perhaps with an 'uncle's' pride." He grinned. Back home, the college boys had addressed him as Uncle Giles. "Tell me, don't you usually travel with a partner?"

"Yes, sir. Artemus Gordon. Unfortunately, he suffered a fall and injured his leg or he would have been with me. He's recuperating in Los Angeles."

"And might I ask what brings _you_ to this area? Secret business?"

"No," Jim smiled. "I'm on my way to El Paso on some government business, delivering some papers. Nothing confidential or even all that important. Has to do with some land boundary issues."

"And you fortuitously passed through this area?"

"Yes, sir. I stopped in … what's the town's name? Lockjaw… to lay over a day or two. Traveling through this country is hard on man and beast. I'm way ahead of schedule, so I'm taking my time. I heard your name mentioned and inquired, then decided I'd come and see if you were the Giles Lytell I knew."

"I'm glad you did! I hope you can stay a little longer. We have so much to talk about."

W*W*W*W*W

While memory holds a seat

In this distracted globe. Remember thee!

Yea, from the table of my memory

I'll wipe away all trivial fond records.

— _Hamlet. Act i. Sc._ _5_, William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

"Good looking horse over there. Who's it belong to?" The youth named Jackie sat down on the porch beside Alvin, jerking a thumb toward the shiny black horse tethered in front of the ranch house.

"How should I know? I don't know anybody or anything!"

"Aw, come on, Al. Can't be that bad. We all got stuff we'd like to forget. Maybe it's a good thing!"

Alvin just scowled at him. He kept trying to convince himself he should go back inside out of the sun, lay on his bunk awhile, and was unsure why he did not. Something to do with the fellow who rode in a while ago. He wanted to see him again. _The way he looked at me, almost like he might know me from somewhere. Maybe he could tell me something about myself._

Puma strolled up then. "How you feeling, Al?"

"Lousy."

Jackie put a hand on his shoulder. "What you need is a few rounds at the Ribbon. Maybe we can go into town tonight."

"Not me," Gaffney responded. "I'm not getting on a horse until my head stops feeling like it could fall off my neck any time."

Puma had wandered over as the two men conversed. He looked at Alvin a long moment. "Did you see that government agent ride in?"

"Government agent?" Jackie exclaimed. "You sure of that? On the black horse?"

"That's Jim West," Puma affirmed. "I seen him more than once before."

"Who's Jim West?" Alvin asked. Puma said the name like it should mean something.

"Likely you've heard of him. You just ain't remembering. He's pure poison. Him and his partner ain't to be fooled with, and I'm wondering what he's doing here. Lytell can't be liking it much."

"Jim West," Jackie spoke thoughtfully, staring toward the house. "Now there's a man I'd like to see at the wrong end of my gun barrel."

"Don't even think about it, Jackie," Puma scoffed. "You're no match for him. Fact is, none of us is, 'cept maybe Alvin here. And I'm not real sure about that. West is faster than lightning and damned accurate. I've seen him in action with that gun."

Alvin Gaffney looked down at the pistol he still held, and then pushed himself to his feet, holstering the weapon. Without a word, he turned and entered the much cooler bunkhouse, an adobe building like the ranch house. Only the barn was made of wood, a sometimes-scarce commodity in this area.

Stretching out on his bunk, he tried to will the throbbing head to subside, closing his eyes against even the dimness of the interior. _Not the first time one of the boys mentioned how good I am with a gun. That's nothing to be ashamed of. Seems I made my living with my gun. Killing for money. If it didn't bother me then, why does it bother me now? But maybe that's why that West fellow looked in my direction as he did. Perhaps I am the one who can match him, maybe even best him, and he knows it._ Alvin Gaffney grimaced, opening his eyes to stare at the slats of the bed above his. A paid killer.

_Not something Mother would be proud of._

He sat up then, swinging his legs over the side and resting his elbows on his knees. _Why that thought? Mother? I can't remember two days ago, let alone my mother. Or father. Or any sisters or brothers. Hell, I don't know where I was born or even when. How old am I? Do I have any friends anywhere, or are they all just men like those here, ones I encounter when I'm hired? Do I then just move onto the next job and another batch of "friends"?_

Alvin Gaffney buried his face in his hands. Somehow he had to get his memory back. He could not live the rest of his life not knowing anything about himself. And then he wondered why he would feel like that, especially if he was the kind of man the fellows here said he was.

W*W*W*W*W

Though this be madness, yet there is method in 't.

— _Hamlet. Act ii. Sc. 2_., William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

Jim waited for nearly an hour in some dry brush off the main road after he left the Lytell home. He had not seen Artie as he departed, but he was certain that his partner would have been watching for him and would find a way to get away from the ranch to meet with him. However, after that long hour in the afternoon heat, Jim decided that it was not going to happen, so headed on into town.

He had spent several hours with Giles Lytell, finally having supper with him, enjoyable hours, as they talked about the days back east. Jim was glad that "Uncle Giles" appeared to be able to talk about Hugh without apparent renewed pain. Nothing that Lytell said even remotely hinted that he was planning the coup they had been told about.

Yet the fact remained that Lytell had been hiring gunmen. Besides "Alvin Gaffney," Jim had spotted one Puma Candliss, a man he had run into a few times in the past. Artie had as well, but Jim knew that his own contacts with Puma had been more frequent, and more face-to-face. Jim had faith in his partner, and knew that Artie could change his voice, manner of speaking, and even his stance enough to fool someone like Puma.

_I have to talk to Artie. Surely after a week on the Circle L, he's learned something. I hope it's enough to call off the whole affair. I can't see—and I know I don't want to see—Hugh's father as a conspirator, a traitor. Makes no sense why he would do such a thing. He's not an Armando Galiano._

After giving up the wait, Jim rode back into Lockjaw, a ride of over an hour at a brisk pace, which he allowed Blackjack to have. After a couple of days and nights in Mrs. Hatfield's stable and small corral, the horse was full of energy. Lytell had had one of his men, a kid with sly eyes he called Jackie, take Blackjack to water and the stable, out of the sun, during Jim's visit.

Back in town Jim went to the Hatfield home to apologize to his landlady for missing dinner. She shrugged it off. He had paid for it whether he ate it or not! He then climbed the stairs to his room, laid on the bed for awhile, and thought more about his encounter with Giles Lytell, trying to remember everything said, the expressions on Lytell's face and in his eyes.

_I've been fooled before. I hope I'm not being fooled now_.

Eventually he rose, splashed water on his face and combed his hair, then took the black out of the stable to ride into town and the Scarlet Ribbon. This had to be the night Artie would come with the Circle L boys.

But it was not.

Shortly before the summer sun sank into the desert, half a dozen boisterous men arrived. Jim saw the young blond Jackie, but no Puma, and no "Alvin Gaffney." Because he could not go up and ask about their missing companion, Jim waited, playing solitaire and enjoying a surprisingly good whiskey for such a remote saloon. He saw the looks he got from those men; they knew his identity for whatever reason. Had Puma told them? Or Giles Lytell?

Dory and the other two women spent time with the group as they started a poker game, bottles of whiskey and glasses of beer in front of them. After awhile, Dory left the party, approached Jim's table and sank into the opposite chair, disappointment plain on her round face.

"Which one is your boyfriend?" Jim inquired, idly. "He ignoring you for the card game?"

"Naw. He didn't come. Seems he bumped his head and wasn't feeling good. Dang it. I ain't seen Al in close to a week now!"

"Is he all right?" Jim knew his voice was too sharp, but the woman did not appear to notice.

"They said so. Just has a headache. But I sure miss him. He's a real gent. You know? You wouldn't think that a man like him would be so polite, but he knows how to make a gal feel like a lady."

_Overdoing it, Artemus!_ Jim bit back a smile. "Well, if he's not injured badly, he'll probably show up with the next foray to town. I was out at the Circle L today. Turns out that the Giles Lytell there is my old friend."

"Well, isn't that nice? Like I told you before, I hardly know the man, more's the pity." Dory rested her elbow on the table, her chin on her hand. "Did you have a nice visit?"

"Very nice. I'm going back tomorrow. Funny, isn't it?"

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"That Mr. Lytell has hired a bunch of men like that." His eyes flicked toward the half dozen men at the other noisy table.

Dory screwed her face slightly in thought. "I guess it is. Seeing they ain't cowhands. Not really. Maybe he's scared about something and brought them on to protect him."

Jim nodded. "That could be. Although it would seem strange he'd allow so many of his 'guards' to leave their posts if he was worried about being attacked or robbed."

"Yeah, ain't it?" The woman heaved a great sigh. "Oh, well. I guess that ain't for us to worry about, huh. Can I interest you in a dance, Mr. West? I could ask Jess to play the piano."

"I'm not a good dancer," Jim lied smoothly. "Go on and enjoy yourself with the Circle L boys. I'll be fine here…"

His voice trailed away as a newcomer entering through the front door caught his attention. Dory saw his gaze, and looked around. "Huh! Looks pretty slick, like a gambler type."

"That's what I was thinking," Jim murmured. What the devil was Frank Harper doing here? He was not due for another few days, if at all. The plan had been that if Richmond had not heard from either of his primary agents by a particular date, _then_ Harper was to be sent in. That date had not arrived yet.

Harper's eyes scanned the room, and he wandered over to the bar, asked for a beer. Jim knew Frank would be coming in under a different guise, not as an agent. His skill with cards and his smooth manner lent themselves well to that of a gambler.

Dory sighed again. "Guess I'd better go see if he wants company." She got up and strolled toward the bar.

Jim was unsure whether to be insulted or not. Dory obviously either realized he was not interested in her, or she was not interested in him. As he played his card game, he kept his eyes on both the poker game and his Secret Service associate. Frank knew better than to brush off a woman like Dory directly. He would do it in a friendly, gentle manner, so as to keep her good graces, never knowing when her assistance or information might be of use.

After a few minutes of conversation, Dory left the gambler and returned to the poker table. Frank Harper turned from the bar, holding his glass of beer, gazed around for a moment, then crossed over to where Jim was sitting. "Looks like a lonely game, mister."

"It passes the time," Jim replied. "Sit down." He held out his hand. "Name's West."

"Haskins. Frank Haskins. You live here?"

"No, just laying over a couple of days in the middle of a long ride. You?"

"You might say I'm doing the same. Looking for a place with a lively game. Don't think I've found it here." He was referring to the size of the pots at the poker game, obviously small ones. "I didn't see a hotel as I was riding in. Of course, it's dark out there but…"

"No hotel. But I'm staying with a widow who rents rooms. I'm sure she has another one."

"That sounds like a better deal than another night on the hard ground."

Although the bartender was the only one who might have been able to overhear their conversation, and he evinced little interest, they had kept their voices normal, with no attempt to disguise what they were saying. The men playing poker were too interested in their game now, and only one, a thin man with a toothpick in his mouth, bothered to look when the two men strolled out the door.

Neither spoke again until they were on their horses and heading to the Hatfield house. "Why are you here, Frank?" Jim asked, this time keeping his tone quieter.

"Richmond received another letter. Seems the coup attempt is imminent."

Jim frowned, shook his head. "It can't be Lytell then. I spent all day with him, and he did not give any hint of urgency, of trying to get rid of me. In fact, I'm invited back tomorrow."

"What does Artemus say?"

"That's the problem," Jim sighed. "I haven't been able to talk to him. I've been here two days now. The woman in the saloon, the one who talked to you, claimed 'Alvin' as her boyfriend, and she says he and the other men from the Circle L come in several times a week. But they did not appear the last two nights. Those playing poker you saw are Circle L—but Artie was obviously not with them. Dory said they told her 'Alvin' wasn't feeling well. Bumped his head or something. Apparently nothing serious, but it gave him a headache."

"Doesn't sound like Artemus to let a little headache deter him," Frank frowned.

"Yeah. I know. I saw him out there today. Of course, he didn't acknowledge me, but I thought he'd find a way to meet me after I rode away."

"And he didn't."

"Right. There's one man out there who _might_ recognize him. Puma Candliss. You know him?"

"Don't think so." Frank listened as Jim described the man in question, and then shook his head. "No. Can't recall ever running into him. You think Artemus might be in trouble?"

"I don't know," Jim sighed. "And I can't go barging in there. I'm going to have to wait until tomorrow and hope I see him… and talk to him."

They reached the Hatfield house where Frank acquired a room, but not before complaining over paying for a full week when he might be staying for only a couple of days. However, he yielded, grumbling about Mrs. Hatfield's monopoly on the room and board situation in Lockjaw. Jim finally laughed out loud when they entered the stable with their horses.

"Never knew you to be such a miserly curmudgeon, Frank!"

"Well, I couldn't be as agreeable regarding her rates as I'm sure you were," Frank explained. "Who knows, Mrs. Hatfield might be a spy for the other side."

"Yeah," Jim chuckled. "If there is another side."

Frank hefted his saddle over the wall of the stall and looked at the other agent. "I don't get it. You have doubts about Lytell?"

"I don't know what to think, Frank. As far as I can tell, Giles Lytell hasn't changed that much from his days in Indiana. Just older, maybe a little sadder. I simply cannot comprehend why he would be involved in such a plot. What was in the second letter?"

"That the number of men in the camp in Mexico has neared a hundred, and that Lytell plans to attack Fort Challenge and the Mexican garrison simultaneously."

"That's a big order," Jim mused, doubtfully. "Even Galiano didn't attempt that feat. He used a war of attrition… and duplicity."

"I know. Suppose they succeeded in taking over those garrisons? Both the United States and Mexican governments would send troops from other forts. Likely several hundred Mexican and American soldiers would be available within a day or two. A lot of bloodshed." Frank shook his head somberly.

"True. Nonetheless, neither President Grant nor President Juarez would sit by and let it happen."

"Is Lytell mad?"

Jim paused at that one. He had encountered any number of men—and women—who were later adjudged insane, but at the time appeared perfectly sane. Giles Lytell seemed normal. _But I haven't talked to him in a dozen years. Even then, my conversations with him were always in the company of Hugh and perhaps other fellow students. I can't remember ever sitting down and talking to him as I did today._

"I don't know, Frank. That's why I need to talk to Artie, to see if he's learned anything while working for Lytell. If Giles Lytell really does plan to take over the Arizona Territory and Sonora, he has to be mad." He paused and looked at his fellow agent. "What's being done about the hundred men in Mexico?"

"Juarez is being contacted. He was notified before, but was asked to wait until we have more information. Now President Grant is requesting that he send troops to watch these men."

"If they exist."

"Why would you say that, Jim?"

Jim West sighed. "Frank, I just cannot believe that Giles Lytell could be behind such a thing. These letters may be a malicious prank."

"But the men on the ranch and those in Mexico. They are real."

"I know. I know. Somebody may be planning a takeover. But not Giles Lytell."

W*W*W*W*W

An early morning meeting had been called. A man Alvin could not remember having seen at the ranch—at least not over the last two days after his injury—charged into the bunkhouse, rousting the men, who would have preferred to sleep a few hours more considering how late they had returned last night. However, no one complained beyond a few grumbles.

"Has this happened before?" Alvin asked Errol who was dressing at the bunk across from his.

For an instant Fincher stared at him in surprise, then grinned. "I forgot. You don't remember nothing, Al. The boss only calls us to the house when it's important. Something must be going on. Maybe about that fellow who was here yesterday, West. Or maybe we're finally going to get some action!" Fincher put a hand momentarily to his forehead, grimacing. "Just wish he'd a-waited 'til a little later in the day."

"Who's that fellow who woke us?"

"That's Jeb Lowry. He's Lytell's right-hand-man. Guess he's been down south taking care of things. Must-a got back last night. Makes me think we're going to be moving soon."

_At least my head feels better this morning_, Alvin realized with satisfaction. The bruise was still very sore, but the swelling had abated some. His thick dark hair disguised the knot, but it was there. Coffee would help. _How strange. Suddenly I have this sense of putting together a pot of coffee in a small space. Not really a kitchen. Not a campfire. And an odd sense of the floor under my feet swaying as I did it. What could that mean? A dream I had at some point?_

The men trooped out of the bunkhouse toward the main house, all pulling off their hats respectfully as they entered the large living room. Alvin looked around with some curiosity. He knew he had been inside here before. Jackie had related some of what happened the day he came out here to apply for a job, how Mr. Lytell took him into the house to talk to him.

_But nothing looks familiar. Not even Lytell._ He had had glimpses of the boss yesterday, and had a vague recollection of Mr. Lytell talking to him when he first roused after the head blow. But he had drifted in and out of consciousness, they said, and right now Alvin had no memory of what Lytell had said to him. Thus he was quite surprised when Giles Lytell singled him out as the men settled among the various chairs and sofas.

"Gaffney, how are you feeling?"

"Much better. Thanks."

"Feel up to using your gun?"

"I expect I could if I had to."

The housekeeper entered then, a good-looking Mexican woman, followed by the older, stouter woman named Alma who Alvin knew did the cooking for both Giles Lytell and the men from the bunkhouse. Both were carrying trays loaded with steaming cups of coffee, which the men accepted eagerly.

Lytell virtually ignored the women. "Good. Gentlemen, you are here for a special reason. You're going to be the advance men in my plans. But before we can go forward, it will be necessary to rid the world of one James West. Some of you saw him here yesterday, and he will be returning today. I'm sure my hospitality is throwing him off guard if he had any suspicions in the first place. He's one of the men who murdered my son, along with Grant and others who will soon pay."

Alvin glanced at the men around him. They were listening impassively, not really caring about the reasons why. The financial rewards were their motives, and Alvin knew that like him, they had been promised large rewards. Puma told him that Lytell had sworn to give him a large section of land near Phoenix, his own little kingdom within the new kingdom. No one seemed to know what Alvin Gaffney had been offered. "Money, probably, just like me," Jackie had said yesterday. "You were talking about having money and heading for South America to live it up."

"Gaffney," Lytell continued, "I believe you may be the only man who can match West with a gun. Even if you are a bit slower, we can arrange matters so that Mr. West will not have a chance anyway. The important thing is for him to die, specifically in a gunfight, a fair gunfight that cannot be challenged by the law. I'm quite aware that the government will investigate the loss of one of their most valuable men, and that that investigation will delay matters slightly. The delay will be worth it to have James West out of the way. He may or may not be here to look into my business, but I will sleep easier knowing he's dead."

"You're saying I should brace him, Mr. Lytell?" Alvin inquired. He noticed that the comely housekeeper had paused to straighten some newspapers stacked on a small table near the door through which the cook had already exited. No one else paid her any mind, so he shifted his attention back to Lytell.

"Something like that. As I mentioned, he'll be here today. I don't want anything to happen at the ranch. But I'll make sure West remains in this area another day or two. You'll be able to encounter him in Lockjaw, perhaps at the saloon. We'll set it up so that for all intents and purposes, Gaffney, you will gain the reputation of having killed James West in a fair fight, but in reality, it's possible someone else's bullet may do the trick. All will be paid well, I assure you."

Giles Lytell went on to assure his men that his original plans were still in effect. Once James West was out of the way—as well as whatever investigation followed—they would begin. He told them he had over a hundred men waiting in Mexico, and another hundred, possibly more, just waiting the word to join that party. "I have no doubt the Mexican authorities are aware of the camp, so it is wise to not allow them to realize just how large our army is."

After some more words of encouragement, Lytell dismissed the group, warning them to not do anything to arouse the interest or suspicion of the Secret Service agent when he visited today. "Work on some chores, and appear normal."

"Lucky you," Jackie spoke rather querulously as he caught up to Alvin outside. "I'd sure like to have Jim West as a notch on my gun. Wouldn't be anyone dare buck me then!"

Alvin glanced at the younger man. "Be my guest."

Jackie scowled. "The boss says you're to do it, and I don't reckon we'd better go against him, especially if we want to get paid."

They paused in the shade of a cottonwood tree near the corral. "How'd you get in this group, Jackie? You seem kind of young compared to the rest of us."

Jackie grinned widely. "Age ain't got nothin' to do with in, Al. The boss knows what I can do. Hell, I've already faced down a half dozen men. Got the first one when I was not yet sixteen."

"You've killed six men in gunfights?" Alvin Gaffney knew he should not feel so appalled, yet he was. _I might have killed two-three times that many by now. Who knows when I killed my first!_

"Yep. I'm fast, but you know I ain't a match for you… yet. I'm practicing though." The youth's blue eyes met Alvin's brown ones straight on.

"I'll remember that."

They went on toward the building behind the bunkhouse that was the eating area for the hands. Juana and Alma were putting plates of eggs, bacon, and hotcakes in the middle of the table, and providing more coffee. Alvin found himself the center of attention, most of it envious, as they ate. Jeb Lowry joined the other men, sitting directly across from Gaffney. He seemed as resentful as the others about the choice of the man to take credit for the killing of James West.

"I haven't seen you draw, Gaffney. Are you as fast as the other boys say?"

Alvin shrugged. "They tell me I beat them in pulling leather and also in accuracy."

"I forgot. You got that knock on the head. Maybe it messed up your gun speed as well as your brain."

"Maybe."

"Hey, Al," Puma called from further down the table, "you remembering anything yet?"

"No." _Unless you can call a sense of making a pot of coffee remembering. Or the sense that something isn't right, that I'm in the wrong place. _

"One thing I been noticing," Puma went on, loading his fork with a chunk of hotcake and a portion of eggs, "is you talk different now."

Alvin frowned at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Puma just shrugged. "I don't know. I just said I noticed it."

"Come to think of it," another man put in, "that's true. Can't rightly say what the difference is."

Annoyed, Alvin glared at all of them. "Any of you ever know another fellow who got his memory knocked out of his head by a horse's hoof? Hell, maybe my brain can't remember how I talked before. I don't know. I'd gladly trade places with any of you. This not remembering is no fun."

W*W*W*W*W

Jim and Frank were able to have another long conversation in the morning because after serving their breakfast their landlady went off to do some shopping at the general mercantile. They did not manage to come up with anything in the way of a plan, however other than Jim accepting Lytell's invitation to visit today. Frank would hang around town, try to talk to a few people to draw out any knowledge they might have, and Jim would do his best to ferret information, or at least impressions, from his host.

"I don't expect Artie to come into town while I'm out at the Circle L," Jim said, "but if he does, do your best to talk to him."

_That goes without saying_, Frank Harper mused. He could see that Jim was worried about his partner, and had reason to be. This was not like Artemus Gordon, whose cleverness was legendary. He should have figured out a way to get information to his partner, if not talk to him directly, by now. The only reason for that not to have happened would seem to be that Artemus's true identity had been revealed, and he was now a prisoner at the ranch. _Although that doesn't explain why Jim saw Artemus yesterday. One would think he'd be locked up… or worse._

When Jim approached the Circle L ranch house, he noticed a number of the men seemingly busy at small tasks, one fixing a window on the bunkhouse, two others repairing the door on the big barn. Most importantly, he saw Artemus Gordon with three men apparently fixing the corral fence. None of them seemed to be working particularly hard or efficiently.

He looked toward the group at the corral fence, one of whom was the man Puma. The only one who even glanced toward him was the bearded man the others knew as Alvin Gaffney. After seeing the expression on his partner's face, Jim was more puzzled than ever. Although Artie's back was to his companions, he did not attempt to wink or give any other sign of acknowledgment. His gaze was cold and expressionless.

_He must have a reason,_ Jim decided, glancing around. As far as he could discern, none of the other men in view would have a clear vision of Artemus from where they were. Perhaps Artie was aware that someone else _would_ be able to see him, a man not in the range of Jim's vision. The reason would come out once they had an opportunity to talk. _It's up to Artie to provide that opportunity. Why doesn't he?_

Dismounting in front of the house, Jim passed through the iron gate to the door and rapped on it. The door opened almost instantly, and the handsome housekeeper smiled, holding out her hand. "Good day, Senor West. Please come in. I will tell Mr. Lytell you have arrived."

Jim passed his hat to her and noticed that she took it rather awkwardly. A moment later, Jim comprehended the reason, as he felt something stiff touch his hand. Catching her intent gaze and reading it, Jim's fingers closed over the folded paper which he swiftly placed into an inside jacket pocket. Juana smiled in obvious relief, then turned and hurried across the room to the other door.

Though burning with curiosity, Jim did not attempt to retrieve the paper to read it. _It's not a love letter, that I'm sure of. But what…?_

Giles Lytell entered, smiling broadly as usual and holding out his hand. "James. I am delighted you came back. We have so much more to talk about. Sit down. Brandy?"

"No thank you, sir." Jim took the same chair he had occupied the previous day. This time Lytell sat in the matching chair, placed at an angle alongside his, rather than the sofa, which would caused the two men to be face-to-face. Deliberate? "Mr. Lytell, do you mind if I ask you something?"

"Go right ahead, James."

"I've noticed the men you have on this ranch. One I recognize as a man I arrested twice, Puma Candliss. I'm pretty sure the others are also what could be classified as hardcases. If they haven't been in prison, they've been close to it."

"And you're wondering why I would hire such men."

"Yes, sir."

"It's simple, James. After residing here a few years I began to realize that I needed to do more than simply live as a hermit, which is what I was doing. The only persons I had regular contact with were my housekeeper and cook. I have plenty of money from the sale of my Indiana properties. And I became aware of men who are not as fortunate."

"You're saying that you're giving these men a second chance to live an honest life?"

"Something like that. Understand, James, these men have for the most part never held a truly regular and responsible job. At least not since they were very young. You could say they took the easy way out, choosing a path that would provide the money they needed to support themselves, but a path that was generally against the law."

Jim was silent a moment before speaking. "Is this wise, sir? These kinds of men…"

Lytell held up a hand. "I know, James. I know. Others warned me. But believe me, it is working out well. These men had never had anyone trust them before now. Knowing they have my trust—well, they are a completely different group of men than when I first hired them."

Jim West looked at the older man; he saw the satisfied smile on Lytell's face. _Satisfied because he feels he is doing something good? Or satisfied that he is pulling the wool over my eyes? Wish I could read the note Juana gave me. _"That's very good of you, sir," he said aloud. "Not many others would even consider giving such men a helping hand, and a second chance. I wish you luck."

The remainder of the visit passed similarly to the previous day, talking about their days in Indiana, of acquaintances and places. They shared another excellent meal, and then Jim departed, but not before Giles Lytell extracted a promise from him not to leave the area for another day or two. The rancher said that he knew he was being selfish, but he wanted to extend this time with the friend of his late son, to bring back good memories that he had too long ignored. Because staying over fit in with his own plans, Jim agreed, glad for the excuse.

None of the hired men were in view as Jim retrieved his horse from the corral, mounted and set out. Chances were at this hour they were eating their dinner. Even so, as he had done the previous day, Jim waited at the roadside for a long while to give his partner an opportunity to slip away and join him. As before, Artemus did not show up.

Jim read Juana's note as soon as he was out of sight of the ranch house: "_Mr. West, they are planning to kill you. Be very careful. Sr. Lytell has another one hundred men waiting in Mexico. They will strike Fort Challenge and Sonora first."_

Upon reaching town, he found Frank Harper in the Scarlet Ribbon, playing stud with two other men. Buying a beer at the bar, Jim managed to catch the other agent's eye to let him know they needed to talk. He finished his beer, departed the saloon and rode back to the boarding house. About forty-five minutes later, he admitted Frank into his room and silently handed him the note.

Harper frowned. "Where did this come from?"

"The housekeeper."

"So… she's obviously the one who wrote to Washington. Same handwriting. Is it on the level?"

Jim sighed, shaking his head. "I don't know, Frank. She's there and obviously would have the opportunity to overhear things. But…"

"What's she like?"

"Like? I don't know. Juana is an efficient housekeeper as far as I can tell. Attractive woman, early to mid thirties."

"Any chance she's doing this out of spite… for revenge?"

"Good question," Jim frowned. "I certainly haven't noticed anything between her and Lytell, if that's what you mean. But damn it, I still haven't talked to Artie!"

"You saw him?"

"Yes. He was working with a couple other men. Just looked at me and kept working. That's another thing." Briefly Jim related Lytell's claim about rehabilitating the men.

"You buying it?"

Jim sighed again. "I don't know, Frank. I honestly don't know. When I'm talking to Lytell, it's as though a dozen years haven't gone by. He seems to be the same man I knew in Indiana."

"Maybe that's what he wants you to believe."

"I've thought of that. If only I could talk to Artie."

"Maybe he'll be in town tonight. What about this business of the plan to kill you, Jim? Ambush?"

"Not likely. That would bring a full-scale investigation, other agents. If Lytell is planning this coup, and if he's smart enough to organize it, surely he's smart enough to realize that murdering me would bring unwanted attention his way."

Frank rubbed his chin, thoughtfully. "So maybe a little tussle in the Scarlet Ribbon, someone calling you out?"

"Maybe."

"One thing's for certain," Frank said then. "We need to get the information about the extra hundred guns to Colonel Richmond soon as possible. Could make a big difference—if it's true—in how the Sonora garrison and Fort Challenge prepare to defend themselves."

"Do you mind…?"

"No, not at all. I'll head out tomorrow morning. Closest telegraph is that town about thirty miles east of here, Bisbee. I should be back by evening." Harper gazed at his fellow agent. "You're going to be all right till then?"

Jim had to grin. "You're as bad as Artie. You all seem to think I deliberately seek trouble."

"No, indeed, James. We just know you are a veritable magnet for it!"

W*W*W*W*W

Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce

Or a trouble is what you make it,

And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts,

But only how did you take it.

— _How did you die? Stanza 1_ – Edmund Vance Cooke, Canadian writer

Alvin Gaffney reluctantly acceded to his comrades' urging to accompany them to Lockjaw. He could see that they were puzzled by his lack of enthusiasm, and frankly, he was as well. All of the others insisted that he had thoroughly enjoyed visiting the Scarlet Ribbon, downing a few, playing cards and spending time with the ladies.

"Don't forget," Puma reminded him, "West might be there. Fact, I expect him to be. What else is there to do in Lockjaw? Might be our opportunity to take him down."

Alvin had noticed Puma's eyes fastened on him as he made that statement. _Funny, it's almost as though Puma is suspicious of me for some reason. Does he think I'm faking this memory business? _Nonetheless, Alvin knew he himself was experiencing a loathing to accompany the men into town, and he did not understand why that was the case.

_Supposedly, killing means nothing to me. I've killed before. That's what they tell me anyway. And I'm good with a gun. I have no reason to fear this West. I'll have the boys here backing me up, making sure I "win." _Was that part of it? Knowing that even if he gained the credit for downing James West, he might not actually be responsible? _Am I that honorable?_

Or was it something else? He could not forget the way this Jim West looked at him. _As though he expected something from me_. What? Have I met him before? What was the reason for that dream last night? Because I have met West under different circumstances?

He had dreamed about a train. An odd train, made up of just a few cars. Somehow he found himself in the end car, which possessed an amazingly luxurious interior. At first he had felt out of place, then suddenly found himself relaxing on a sofa, and this fellow West came through a door, grinning at him, holding a bottle of something. Around that part of the dream, Alvin had been awakened by his noise of the other occupants of the bunkhouse.

_That makes no sense. West is a government agent. Why would I be friendly with him? Dreams were crazy sometimes. No need to worry about it. Probably something I ate last night. Too much of Alma's dried apple pie maybe._

Urged on by his companions, Alvin saddled his chestnut mare, the one he was told by others that he had addressed as "Mesa." Funny name for a horse, he mused. But at least she was a good horse, a very good horse. _Wish I remembered where I got her. She seems to trust me, so I guess I treat her right._

He thought about that beautiful black stallion ridden by the federal agent, West. Jackie could almost not stop talking about the horse, and opined that perhaps once the agent was "taken care of," he might claim the black. Errol Fincher had laughed scornfully. "That's no horse for a boy! Takes a man like me to handle critter like that."

Jackie had only scowled. He had already expressed his opinion of Fincher's horse-handling techniques to Alvin. "That black horse'd kill him," Jackie confided, "if he treated it like he treats the pinto."

Alvin half feared that the ride into town would activate his headache again, especially since his companions insisted on keeping the pace to a lively trot. After being confined to the ranch for a couple of days, they were anxious to break loose. Feeling it had been partially his fault that they stayed close to home after the accident, Alvin did not complain about the swift gait, and was relieved after awhile to realize that his head was not the worse for the rapid pace.

The first thing Alvin saw when they halted their sweating horses in front of the Scarlet Ribbon was the shiny black horse. An odd sensation struck his stomach. _Fear?_ No, he was not afraid of that federal man, regardless of West's reputation. Although he still could not remember his own life, he knew enough from what he had been told, as well as from his own feelings when he handled a weapon, that he knew what to do with it. _Besides, I won't be facing him alone. _

A few townsmen and several from outlying ranches were in the saloon as they entered, but Alvin's attention was on the two men seated at a table apparently playing gin rummy. One was the agent, the other a lanky, mustached man in a slick suit that almost surely identified him as a professional gambler. He also wore a sidearm, which likely indicated he knew his vocation could be risky.

He also saw the federal agent in the blue suit and black leather chaps look his way again. Alvin turned away from the gaze, lest this West fellow read his own confusion. _Why does he look at me like he's worried about something? Has he heard about Lytell's plan? Couldn't have._

Jim West absently put down a card and Frank snatched it, chortling as he spread his cards on the table "Gin." Frank's grin quickly faded as he noticed the expression on his fellow agent's face. He had heard the commotion behind him, but had not looked around, able to read by Jim's eyes that the Circle L group had entered.

"What's wrong?" he asked as he began to tot up points.

"Artie shaved his beard."

After a couple of seconds, Frank casually looked back toward the men who were noisily settling into tables in the far corner. Dory and another woman, a brunette named Esther, were going toward them. He could see the big smile on Dory's face as she approached the now clean-shaven Artemus Gordon.

"Why the devil would he do that?" Frank asked softly, not really expecting a reasonable answer as he started dealing the next hand.

Jim slowly picked up his cards, automatically sorting them in his hand. "The beard was his disguise, Frank. Without it, Puma might recognize him. I don't get it. Something is very, very wrong… I just don't know what it is!"

They had not expected the answer to be so swiftly forthcoming, as Dory stalked away from the Circle L men, approached the two agents to pull out a chair and sit down, as usual, without invitation. Her face was a combination of fury, mortification, and confusion.

"What happened, Dory?" Frank asked.

"He don't know me," she said hoarsely, and Jim realized she was very close to tears.

"Who doesn't?" he asked cautiously.

"Alvin! I went up, said hi-dee, and he just looked at me like he never seen me before in his life!"

Frank Harper and James West exchanged startled glances. Frank inquired, "Is that all that was said?"

"Well, Jackie, he says Alvin got kicked in the head by Errol Fincher's pinto and when he woke up, he couldn't remember nothing, not even his name. I don't believe that. Not for one minute I don't believe it. Ain't even man enough to say he's through with me."

"Oh my God." Jim's voice was a soft whisper, and he fought to keep from staring at the man on the other side of the room.

Dory seemed not to have heard the exclamation. "I got better things to do than hang around a fellow who is so cheap and cowardly. You boys want to buy me a drink?"

"Get yourself a glass," Frank invited, shoving the bottle on the table toward her. As soon as she departed for the back of the bar, he continued. "Damn, Jim. This isn't good!"

"You're telling me. That must be why Artie has been looking at me as though I'm a stranger. He's also throwing some pretty black stares my way."

"What next?" Frank asked, keeping his eye on the woman who was apparently telling her troubles to a bored Jess at the bar.

"I don't know. We sure can't march up and tell him his true name. When I suffered amnesia, seeing Artie in trouble brought me out of it. But a doctor has since told me that's not always the case. Some… some amnesia is permanent."

Dory returned then, even more miserable due to the barkeep's indifference. Because he was facing the direction of the Circle L gang, Jim was able to keep one eye on them, and before long, it became evident that Dory's presence at their table was going to be a reason for a hassle. "Alvin Gaffney's" glare became even darker. He might not remember Dory, but pretty obviously those men were going to use her as an excuse for trouble. _Why? Because Puma told them I'm a lawman, and they simply do not like lawman? Or…_ Jim did not like to think of another possible reason.

"Frank," he said after a bit, "I think I'm going to head back to the boarding house." He pushed his chair back to rise to his feet.

"Aw," Dory cried, reaching toward his hand. "The night is young. You don't want to go yet."

Jim carefully extracted his hand, quite aware that they were being observed. "Sorry, Dory. I've got a bit of a headache. Too much sun today I guess."

Frank rose as well, casually gathering the cards and sticking them into an inside pocket. "I've about had it too. Need to write a letter to my mother."

Dory gaped. "Your mother!"

Frank grinned. "Yeah, she worries about her wandering boy. Maybe see you tomorrow, Dory. Hope things improve for you."

What Jim feared most came to pass as they headed for the exit. Alvin Gaffney swiftly got to his feet and planted himself in front of the door. "You boys leaving early?"

"Been a long day," Frank responded laconically. He was aware that the other Circle L men were rising from their tables and arraying themselves around the room—mostly behind the two agents.

"I don't take kindly to men who try to steal my woman," the brown-eyed man growled.

"Dory told us you didn't remember her," Jim replied quietly. He wondered if he had ever felt so frightened in his life. _If Artie draws on me, what do I do?_ He too was conscious of the movement of the other men. This was a set-up. _Either they are acting on their own for some unknown reason, or Giles Lytell put them up to it._ He hoped it was the former reason but was reluctantly realizing the latter was probably correct.

"That was just my little joke. You want to apologize, mister?" _Come on, pal. Back down._ Alvin Gaffney experienced a slight shock with his own thoughts. He realized he did not want to draw his gun against this man with the clear green eyes, and it was not because he feared him. He saw his comrades from the ranch positioning themselves around the room. West did not have a chance, and neither did the gambler if he chose to side with the agent. Funny, he was seeing almost the same expression in the gambler's eyes as he saw in the green ones. Not so much fear as worry. Worry about what?

"I'll be glad to apologize," Jim said in the same even tone. "And if you apologize to Dory, I think everything will be just fine."

He moved then, taking one step forward to grab Artemus's arm, jerking back and sending his friend crashing into some nearby chairs. At the same time, amidst the confusion, Frank dashed out the door and Jim followed. Loosening their horses, they bounded into their saddles and spurred toward the boarding house, both fairly certain they were not going to be followed at this point, but unwilling to linger.

Inside the Scarlet Ribbon, Alvin Gaffney climbed to his feet slowly. He heard the angry growls from the others, with threats to go after the pair, but oddly enough, he did not feel angry at all. All he really felt was a little sore on the side that slammed into the chairs, and relief. _This is crazy. Why am I reacting like this? Do I know that fellow from somewhere? _He suddenly remembered his own thoughts a few minutes ago. "_Come on, pal…"_ Addressing this West in that manner seemed… right. Why? _I need to talk to that man, but how can I?_

Jim and Frank did not slow their pace until they neared the Hatfield house. Without comment, they took their horses around to the stable and began unsaddling them. "That was close," Frank finally said.

Jim nodded. "They were looking for me, Frank. I can only assume that Lytell sent them after me. They wouldn't have set it up like that if only Artie… or Alvin… wanted to fight about Dory."

"You're starting to believe the letters?"

"I have to."

"I hate like hell to leave you here alone tomorrow, Jim. Who knows what they'll try next?"

Jim dumped some oats in the trough for the horse. "Nothing, if I visit Lytell again. He won't want my death on his doorstep, or connected to him in any way."

Frank stepped out of the stall where he had been attending his horse. "If you visit Lytell, you might get a chance to speak to Artemus."

"I'm hoping. I hope I'm not wrong that I saw some… some confusion on his face tonight, all the while he was trying to challenge us."

"I thought so too. As if he was doing what he thought he was supposed to do, but was not sure why, or if he wanted to. He's Artemus, Jim. He's not Alvin Gaffney."

They had started for the back of the house after closing the barn door before Jim spoke again. "I'm pretty certain his friends at the ranch are telling him what _they_ know about him, which is what he told them in the first place. I'm worried about Puma. He doesn't know Artie well, but he has seen him. Maybe two years ago the last time."

W*W*W*W*W

Men often mistake themselves, but they never forget themselves.

—George Savile, Marquess of Halifax (1633-1695)

"Too bad that didn't work out last night," Errol said as he watched Alvin shave in front of the cloudy mirror. I've heard that that West guy is tricky, and he sure showed it."

Jeb was leaning against a nearby bed. "I'm wondering about the gambler fellow. Seemed pretty tight with West. Maybe another agent."

Errol snickered. "Didn't look like any lawman I've ever seen. Naw, he's just a slick gambler that happened to take up with West. They was playing cards when we came in, you know."

"Thing is," Jeb went on, "the boss isn't happy you messed up the chance to get West last night."

Alvin turned around, scowling. "I wasn't alone, you know."

"True enough," Jeb acknowledged. "But be sure none of you mess up next time." He stomped out of the bunkhouse.

Jackie was lolling on a bed. "How come you decided to shave off your beard, Al?" Three other men were still sleeping off last night's activities in their bunks, their snores loud.

Gaffney shrugged. "Got tired of it." _Besides it didn't feel natural. Maybe I didn't wear a beard before I came here._

"My grandpappy had a beard," Jackie stated. "Long one. He always said it was too much trouble to shave. Sometimes I agree."

Fincher snorted. "You don't even know what it's like to shave yet, boy!"

Alvin dried off his face, picked up his hat and left the bunkhouse, unwilling to listen to the pair wrangle again. As he stepped outside, he spotted the rider coming on the distant road. _West again!_ The prancing black horse in particular was easy to recognize. Why was he coming back?

Another strange dream last night. A dream about a woman. A beautiful woman with shiny dark hair and eyes filled with love for him. He tasted her kisses and felt her caresses. He thought he should know her name in the dream, but could not say it. Even now, he could not. Who was she? Alvin was certain she was someone he knew. Was she waiting for him somewhere?

Standing on the small porch of the bunkhouse, Alvin watched the slim man as he dismounted in front of the main house. He did not look this way, at least. Was he going to complain to Lytell about what happened last night?

Jim noted his partner standing at the front of the bunkhouse, but made a point not to look directly at him as he entered the area of the ranch house and dismounted. Last night had come too close to being a nightmare. Somehow he had to talk to Artemus, try to bring him around. The same doctor who told him that some amnesia victims never recover stated that some others regain their memories suddenly, as he had done, or slowly over time. Possibly hearing about some events in his life could hasten Artie's recovery.

Juana's eyes opened wide when she saw him on the doorstep. "Senor…"

Jim smiled. "I know I'm early and Mr. Lytell isn't necessarily expecting me. But I'm planning to leave later today and I thought I'd come by for one last visit. Everything is okay."

The relief on her face was real as she stepped back. "Please sit down. Mr. Lytell is in his office."

"Juana, one moment," Jim spoke softly, catching her arm. "Why did you notify the government?"

She whispered. "Because I have family here in Arizona and Sonora. I do not want them caught in a war like the Pistoleros forced on us." Quickly she turned and hurried out through the door on the far side.

Jim West's stomach tightened as the word _Pistolero_ was spoken. That word had too many bitter memories with it—bitter and joyful as well. He was standing at the large stone fireplace gazing at the beautiful landscape hanging above the mantel when Giles Lytell entered a few minutes later. "James! I didn't expect you this early. I hoped you would, but I was not sure if you would be returning today at all."

Jim turned, smiling. "Sorry to intrude. But I had a message delivered to me yesterday that requires me to leave today."

"I thought you said you had ample time to reach Sonora."

"Yes, but this is a slight change in plans. I'm to report to Fort Challenge to meet with the commanding officer there. Seems they are expecting some trouble."

Lytell settled on the sofa and waved Jim to a chair. "Surely not Indians."

"No, sir." Jim wondered if he had seen a flicker in Lytell's eyes with the mention of the fort. "I'm not clear on all the details, but renegades were mentioned. Something about a secret camp full of armed men just south of the border."

This time he was certain that something moved through the older man's face, perhaps due to the revelation that his plans were not entirely secret. But Lytell spoke calmly. "Have you had breakfast? I can have Alma fix something…"

"No, thank you. I ate at the boarding house where I'm staying."

"Coffee then?"

Again Jim shook his head. "No, thank you." All things considered, and with what he had experienced during past cases, best he did not consume anything within the enemy's abode. Even if it was still difficult to consider Hugh Lytell's father the enemy. "Sir, do you mind if I ask you something about Hugh?"

Now Lytell flinched visibly, but he retained his equanimity. "What is it?"

"It's just that I have often spoken to family or friends of comrades who died in the war, and they usually want to know more about how their loved one died. You haven't inquired about that. I'm sorry if it's painful but… well, I was just curious I guess."

Lytell smiled tightly. "It's all right, James. I suppose that in a way, I am in a state of denial, even after all this time. Hugh was all I had."

"He was a wonderful young man, much liked by all of us." Jim kept his gaze on Lytell's face. He had laid awake a long while last night thinking about this, as well as the problem concerning Artemus, and finally concluded he needed to ask. He wanted to know if Lytell's plans were predicated on the loss of his son, if he somehow blamed the government for Hugh's death.

"The letter I had from his commanding officer simply stated that Hugh died in battle."

Jim nodded. "That's pretty much what it was. A skirmish with some Rebs who were trying to break through the siege works, the kind of thing that happened almost daily, along with the bombardment. I didn't see… didn't see it personally, but was told that a Johnny Reb engaged Hugh in hand-to-hand, and while that was going on, an apparently stray shot caught Hugh. He died instantly."

"Were you there?"

"Yes. But as I said, I didn't see Hugh fall."

"Were you a captain by then?"

"Yes. I'd been promoted recently."

"Were you in command of the men in that… that skirmish?"

Jim pretended not to notice the sharpness in the voice. _So Hugh's death might be an underlying motive after all._ "Yes. We received information that an attempt to break out was imminent. It was our job to keep the Confederates bottled up inside Vicksburg. Even more sadly, this was just a couple of days before the city was officially surrendered." _My birthday, in fact. Not one of the happier ones, losing several friends that day._

Lytell suddenly shot to his feet, turned and walked to the other side of the room, stared at a vase placed on a small étagère for a long moment, then spun. "Why didn't you just let them go at that point? Why engage the enemy when you knew it was almost over?"

"The orders came from above, sir. They were the same all during the siege. I imagine it was felt that if a few Rebs found an escape route, it would be like a broken dike, starting with a trickle and increasing. I was not privy to what was going on among the higher echelons. I simply had my orders." Jim paused a moment, then continued. "Please forgive me, Mr. Lytell, for dredging up unpleasant memories."

Giles Lytell stared at him for several long seconds, his body stiff and eyes cold. Then he relaxed, shaking his head as he returned to the sofa. "No, I apologize, James. It's true. I've been avoiding talking, or even thinking, about the circumstances of Hugh's death, perhaps believing that by not doing so would mean that my son could still walk in that door one day."

"I understand," Jim said gently, his own sadness increasing. Although uncertain of how it came about, obviously Lytell's bitterness over his son's death had a hand in his present insane plans to attempt to grab a large chunk of United States and Mexican territory. _But I've known many parents who lost a son, or more than one son, who did not allow the tragedy to embitter them—indeed, bring on madness—as Hugh's death seems to have done with Giles Lytell._

"Are you certain I cannot offer you refreshments, James? Coffee? Or, as the morning is growing late, something stronger, before you start your arduous trek to Fort Challenge?"

"No, thank you, sir. I'm fine. My landlady at the boarding house is preparing a sandwich for me to take along, and then I should reach the fort in time for supper."

"Any idea of what this problem is, who's behind it?"

"No. I expect I'll learn more once I reach the fort. Colonel Roper is an old friend, as is Colonel Vega of the Sonora garrison." Jim got to his feet. "And I'd better get going before it gets too hot."

Lytell rose as well, extending his hand. "Be sure to stop by any time you are in the vicinity, James. Good to see you again."

Jim shook the hand, and exited through the front door, with Lytell following. He saw several men loitering around the bunkhouse and nearby corral, Artemus among them. Puma Candliss was standing several feet behind Artie, leaning against a fence post, and from this distance, to Jim it appeared that Puma was staring holes in Artie's back. _Has he remembered?_

"By the way, James," Lytell said as Jim swung into the saddle, "I understand you had a bit of a problem with a couple of my men last night. I apologize for that and assure you it will never happen again."

Jim smiled. "Thanks, but I'm pretty sure it won't."

Alvin Gaffney watched the rider on the silken black horse until both disappeared from view over a rise far down the road. _That young man surely can ride, as well as handle that spirited horse._ So intent was he on watching that he did not notice that his employer had walked toward the group of men until Lytell spoke.

"Gaffney, go after him and kill him."

Alvin's head jerked around. "What?"

"You heard me. I don't care how you do it, but he has to be taken out of the picture. My only caution is that you do it as far from this place as you can. He's picking up his gear in Lockjaw and heading south, toward Fort Challenge. You should be able to find a good spot for an ambush along the way."

Alvin almost protested to say that he would never bushwhack a man, but held his tongue, wondering _why_ he would say such a thing. _I make my living killing. Surely there's been an occasion or two when ambush was the best way, sometimes the only way, to accomplish a job._

"Well, okay, Mr. Lytell. But someone's going to need to refresh my memory about the territory. If I knew it before, I don't now."

"I can go with him, Mr. Lytell," Puma offered.

Lytell shook his head. "No, we don't want to complicate things. Two men would be more visible than one. I have confidence, due to Mr. Gaffney's reputation, that he can handle it. Take one of the rifles from the rack in the bunkhouse, Gaffney. Puma, you can pick the best for him. Remember, Gaffney, I don't want West reaching Fort Challenge."

W*W*W*W*W

The way out of trouble is never as simple as the way in.

— E. W. Howe, American writer

Jim was unsure which surprised him most, that Artie stepped out onto the road ahead of him, or that his partner was holding two guns. One was his pistol, in his right hand, with a long rifle in the crook of his left arm, held with a finger on the trigger. Not that he was surprised to have someone come after him. He had been sure of that happening. The whole reason for his visit to Lytell this morning was to set up such an event.

"Get off your horse," Artemus ordered sharply.

Jim did so, slowly, glancing around at the landscape as he stepped to the ground. The hills and rocks in this area would have been perfect for an ambush, and that was what he had been watching for, not for a bold action like this.

"Hello, Artie," he said quietly.

Alvin Gaffney frowned. "What did you call me?"

Jim kept his hands at shoulder height as he stepped away from the dancing black horse. "Your name is Artemus Gordon. You're my partner."

"I'm here to kill you, West," Alvin snarled, lifting the pistol.

"Lytell sent you, I presume."

"What difference does that make to you now?"

"Artie, we were sent here to investigate Lytell."

"Stop calling me that." _It's making my head ache. Why do I feel so damn confused right now? Maybe dropping this green-eyed SOB in his tracks will cure it._ His finger tightened on the trigger.

"It's your name," Jim persisted, seeing the clouds in the brown eyes, the frown at the edges of the full mouth. "Artemus Gordon, originally from Michigan. You and I met just after Shiloh, when General Grant brought us together to do some spying and scouting. We became friends, and after the war ended, teamed up in the Secret Service."

"Secret Service! That's… that's…" For just an instant, Alvin closed his eyes against the thoughts that seemed to be pounding against each other in his head. He opened them in time to see West take a step toward him. "Hold it!"

"Artie, listen to me. I know you were hit on the head and have amnesia. I suffered that a couple years back, remember? Furman Crotty stole the smallpox serum…"

"Shut up."

Jim could see he was disturbing Artie, and he wondered just how far he could push it. "Come on, Artie. Let's get this business cleared up and we can go back to the train. Remember, Lily is expecting you in Abilene."

"Who… who's Lily?"

"Lily Fortune. Your fiancée. She's an actress."

Alvin frowned deeply, remembering the dream, the beautiful woman. "Does she have dark hair?" he asked, wishing he had not.

"Dark and lustrous hair. You're a lucky man." Discussing Lily was disturbing Artemus more, he could see. Problem was, Jim discerned that Artie was also becoming angry.

"Enough! I don't know what you're trying to do, West. I was sent to kill you, and that's what I plan to do. Only I don't like the idea of back-shooting a man. I figure I'm good enough to match you."

"All right," Jim said quietly, his nerves tightening. He had always been able to beat Artie when they matched skills, drawing their weapons. Artie had excellent control, however, and when target practice was involved as well as drawing, he usually hit the target dead center more often. They had never actually drawn against each other, face-to-face. _Will my fear of hurting him affect my abilities?_ Jim West suddenly knew what he had to do.

He took a few more steps away from his horse and waited, watching. As he expected, "Alvin" had to divest himself of the rifle, as well as holster his pistol. _I've never cheated in a situation like this, but this is not a normal situation._ The moment Artemus bent slightly to drop the carbine into the dusty road, Jim drew and fired.

With a cry of pain and rage, Artemus spun, grabbing his upper right arm, blood spurting between his fingers. Jim sprinted forward, kicking away the rifle and seizing the pistol that his partner had just holstered and tossing it aside. Artie sank to his knees, looking up, eyes wide, displaying pain but complete bewilderment as well.

"Jim… what… why…? Oh my God!"

Jim dropped to his haunches, keeping his pistol in his hand. "Artie?"

Artemus Gordon took a deep breath. "I was going to kill you, Jim!"

"I know," Jim West replied dryly, finally holstering his gun. He got to his feet, grabbed Artie's uninjured arm and helped him to his feet, then guided him to a boulder at the roadside where he could sit down. "I'm sorry, Artie. I couldn't think of another way to stop you… and I hoped the shock might bring your memory back. Has it?"

"Yeah. All of it."

"You remember why we're in Arizona, as well as what you've learned at Lytell's?" Jim inspected the wound as he spoke, tearing the fabric of the gingham shirt. He had tried to just crease the arm, and it seemed he had succeeded. A nasty cut, bleeding freely, painful, but easily treatable. He pulled the neckerchief from around Artie's neck, and tied it around the wound.

"All of it, Jim. I'm sorry to say, but your old friend is a madman."

"I've come to realize that. Sorry I can't treat your arm better than this, but I think it's best if you go back appearing as if you bandaged the wound yourself."

"You're going to make me go back to the lion's den, huh?"

Jim grinned briefly. "I'm afraid so. I'll be nearby, and Frank will be back this evening. But as far as Lytell is concerned, I'm dead."

"Oh?"

"Well, he sent Alvin Gaffney to kill me, one way or another, didn't he?" He stepped over and picked up the pistol from the dust, handing it to Artie. "Fire a couple of rounds from your pistol in case anyone checks. Tell them you left me in a ravine or something for the vultures."

"Ugh. Jim, you deserve a better fate than that."

"Thanks, but I think it would be more in keeping with Alvin's thinking."

Artie looked down at his arm. The scarf had soaked up some blood but apparently the bleeding was easing. The wound throbbed, but he had been hurt worse. _And the most pain came from the realization that James shot me… on purpose. I knew that almost instantly, even if I did not immediately know why. _For a long moment, his thoughts had wavered between those of Alvin Gaffney and Artemus Gordon. _Thank goodness, good old Artemus won the battle._

Now he glanced up to see the anguish in his friend's eyes. "Jim, it's okay. It's what you had to do. I don't know what would have happened if I shot you… killed you. Maybe it would have shocked my memory back into place too. Can you imagine how I'd feel?"

"Sorry, I hope," Jim twitted.

"Well, yeah," Artemus rejoined, getting to his feet and glad to find his legs were steady under him. "That." He smiled, wondering if his partner was thinking the same thoughts he was, recalling that nightmare day in Paradox, Nevada, when Artemus had briefly believed he _had _killed his best friend. "Got any water?"

Jim went to the stallion to procure his canteen, bringing it back. "I have some food too if you're hungry."

"No. I had a good lunch before heading out. I think we'd better make some solid plans."

As Artie got to his feet, Jim reached down to pick up the rifle. "What the devil are you doing with this Sharpe's buffalo gun?"

"Apparently the best the Circle L has to offer for bushwhacking."

"Why didn't you shoot me from ambush?"

"That I'm not sure. I remember looking for a good place to hole up, but then realized I had to face you. I don't know why. I know you'd been 'bothering' me for a while. I felt as though we had some connection, but couldn't figure it out."

Jim nodded. "Let's find your horse and some shade."

W*W*W*W*W

Frank Harper whistled low and long. "Thank heavens he didn't completely revert to being Alvin Gaffney and decide to bushwhack you."

"That was on my mind the entire time I rode south," Jim admitted. "That plus what if I was wrong, that they would send someone other than Alvin after me. I just kept hoping that the whole setup had worked, that Lytell believed Alvin Gaffney was the best man for the job."

"It appeared he was the one trying to set you up at the saloon last night."

"I know." Jim rose from the bed in Frank's room where he had been sitting and walked to the window, stared out into the twilight. Then he turned. "Artie's acting skills are going to be more important than ever. He has to continue being without a memory. At least long enough to string this whole business out until Colonel Roper's men get here." Frank had received a prompt reply to his telegraph message, stating that a squad of cavalry were being sent from Fort Challenge to help round up the men at the Circle L. Meanwhile other troopers and Mexican military were getting ready to shut down the camp of renegades over the border, and watching out for the supposed one hundred additional men.

"Even more important," Harper pointed out, "is you staying out of sight now."

"Yeah." Jim had crept in the back door of the house, after leaving his horse a quarter mile out of town. He planned to camp near the Circle L, but did not want to travel until full darkness now. "I don't like leaving Artie out there alone."

Frank chuckled. "You two worry about each other like a couple of old maid aunts."

Jim had to grin. "I know. But there's a reason for it. One of us is usually in a tight place." His smile faded. "Somehow I have to get word to Artie about the troopers coming from the fort so he'll be ready."

"How? I mean, how are you going to do that?"

"I don't know." Jim shook his head. "We talked over some plans, but couldn't come up with a good way to make contact without arousing suspicion, especially now that Lytell appears to be close to making his move. We'll just have to watch for opportunities. Chances are good that every man on the Circle L is going to be watched closely. I'm still worried about Puma recognizing him. Artie said that Puma commented on the fact that Artemus's speech was different after the head injury—when he was unable to remember who he was supposed to be."

"Too bad you don't have Artemus's skill with makeup and disguise."

Jim cocked his head. "Frank…?"

The other agent was nodding. "I have my makeup case. I'm not as good as Artemus, but they haven't seen me that much. I can probably get in long enough to slip him a note."

W*W*W*W*W

Suspicion is rather a virtue than a fault, as long as it does

like a dog that _watches_ and does not _bite_.

— George Savile, Marquess of Halifax (1633-1695)

Artemus noticed how Puma was watching him more intently than usual. _Jim's right. He's suspicious._ The grizzled older man had not had anything to say while "Alvin" described his encounter with the Secret Service agent. The others, especially Jackie, had had question after question.

"Too bad you had to bury him," Jackie had said. "No one will ever know you beat the great Jim West."

"I'll know," Artemus had retorted. "It's enough for now to know I did it." He had puffed out his chest. "You know, I almost felt sorry for the fellow. When I stepped out into the road to stop him, he knew he was in for trouble. Kind of funny, I don't remember what I did before a couple days ago, but this West fellow, he surely knew. Kind of too bad. Fine looking young fellow like that, cut down in his prime. But that's the way it goes, isn't it?"

"Too bad he clipped you," Jeb commented.

Artie glanced down at the now bandaged arm. "'Twas about all he could do. My lead slug hit him smack dab in the middle of the chest just as he was squeezing the trigger. He dropped like a rock. Maybe I should have just winged him first, seeing as how he seemed to know me before. Maybe he could have told me where he knew me from, helped my memory a bit. I could've finished him afterwards." He shrugged dismissively as though saying, too late to worry over spilt milk.

"What about that horse?" Jackie wanted to know. "That fine black horse?"

Artemus shook his head. "Took off like a lightnin' bolt. Likely he's wandering out there somewhere if you want to go looking."

Jackie had frowned, taking a quick glance at Jeb. "Guess not."

"Now that West is out of the way," Jeb said then, rising from the bunk where he had been sitting in the bunkhouse to listen to the tale, "I reckon things will start moving. Be awhile before the government can get a replacement out here."

"Maybe," Puma said slowly, speaking for the first time, "they'll send West's famous partner. Gordon's his name as I recall. Then maybe Alvin can take him on too."

Artie had not looked directly at Puma, keeping his own countenance noncommittal, but he was certain that Candliss was looking directly at him. _Shaving was a big mistake_, Artie reflected later, even while realizing that at the time he had had no memory of his past, no realization of the false identity he was carrying out. He had only known that the beard felt wrong and uncomfortable.

_I'm going to have to stay sharp_, he decided as the men trooped toward the main house and another meeting with Lytell. _Seems like Puma isn't sure enough to say anything yet… or else he's just waiting for the right moment._

"Someone's riding in," Errol warned, just as the group had reached the iron grill at the front of the adobe house.

Every man paused and looked toward the road. Artemus prevented himself from smiling. _Quite likely I'm the only one who'd see through that disguise. Frank is good, but his lanky frame sometimes works against him—at least making him very recognizable to his friends._ The rider was approaching slowly, and appeared to be a down-on-his-luck drifter, wearing clothing that seemed as if it was one more washing away from disintegrating. The horse and tack were in pretty good shape, but that was not unusual for a man who made his living with his steed.

Jeb broke away and walked toward the newcomer. "What do you want?"

Frank jerked his battered hat off to reveal hair badly needing a trim. "Just lookin' for some work," he whined, "and maybe a meal, mister. Can you help?"

"Nothing here. Be on your way."

"Hey, Jeb," Artie called laconically, "what about that wood you've been harping on us to get cut?"

Lowry looked around, scowling, for a moment. Firewood was needed for the kitchen, and thus far he had not been able to convince any of the currently hired men that that was part of their duties. Then he nodded. "You up to cutting a couple of wood piles?"

"Anything. Anything," Frank replied eagerly. "Long as some food goes with it. I ain't ate nothing but an apple since yesterday morning."

"Go around back of the house and talk to Alma, the cook. She'll feed you and tell you where the axe is. Make sure you do a good job, or I might find another purpose for that axe."

Harper dismounted quickly. "Mind if I put my pony in your barn and give him a little grain?"

"Sure, go ahead."

"Come on," Artemus said. "I'll show you where the oats are kept. Jeb, tell Mr. Lytell I'll be right there." He strode off toward the barn before the foreman had an opportunity to object. Lytell had come out earlier to listen to the results of his plan to finish off the special agent, had praised Alvin highly. Lowry knew that Alvin Gaffney was high in the boss's favor at the moment.

In the darkened barn, Frank Harper quickly related the latest information and plans. "Army should be here by tomorrow."

Artie frowned. "I'm getting the idea Lytell might be planning an early morning move. That's where we're heading right now, to hear his latest plans."

"If there's any way you can stall them…"

"I will. Be much better to bottle them up here then chase them all over the countryside."

"Just be careful, Artemus. You're going to be in the middle of it."

"Jim's out there, isn't he?" Artie nodded toward the open door.

"He's nearby."

Artie grinned. "He won't let me get into any trouble." With a wave, he strode out of the barn.

Frank Harper just shook his head. He had worked with both of these agents before, and in particular with Jim alone while Artemus was on special assignment awhile back. No doubt existed as to why they were the best. Perhaps the only question was why in the devil they were still alive with the chances both constantly took.

W*W*W*W*W

Revelations are seldom beneficent.

— George Santayana (1863-1952), American philosopher

The night air was cool as Jim West made his way toward the buildings. He crouched as low as he could, and used various ash trees, Manzanita, and other scrub brush for cover where possible, thankful that the moon was a mere sliver. Although the lack of a moon made for dark traveling, it also meant less likelihood of him being spotted, on the off chance that someone was looking at this hour. Midnight was a couple of hours gone.

He slowed his pace as he neared the structures, his eyes and ears alert. Hearing the low whistle, Jim relaxed slightly and moved toward the sound. The shadow that appeared from behind the barn did not startle him. "Did Frank make it out here?" he asked.

Artemus nodded, moving back into the deep darkness the barn's shadow provided as Jim followed him. "Yes. I told him that I thought that Lytell was planning to move out early, and turns out that's true. Maybe earlier than the army can get here."

"That's not good."

"I know. Thus far I haven't come up with a way to delay them beyond setting fire to the place."

Jim laughed softly. "Probably not a good idea. How's your arm?"

_I knew he was going to fret about that._ "It's fine. Juana cleaned it, dabbed on some smelly ointment, and bandaged it." Artemus had noticed the housekeeper's stony silence as she tended the wound of the man she believed had killed the agent she hoped would stop Lytell. "Don't worry about it. You did what you had to do, and it worked. I didn't kill you and the shock brought my memory back."

Both men remained silent a moment before Jim spoke again. "Is the barn locked?"

"No, why? Need a place to bed down?"

"If they don't have any horses, they can't ride out, right?"

"Good idea. Let's…"

"No, just me, Artie. Alvin had better be snug in bed if anyone hears the commotion. I'll…"

"Who says miracles don't happen?"

The new voice caused both men to spin, reaching for the weapons at their hips. Their hands stilled, however, when they saw the dull gleam of the shotgun barrel in the hands of the dark figure that had just stepped from the far side of the building. Slowly Puma Candliss moved toward them.

"Just look at this, one returned from the dead, the other got his memory back. Amazing, huh? Both of you, pull your guns out with two fingers and toss them over there. Do it. This double-barrel has a wide scatter."

Having no choice, both agents obeyed, throwing their pistols in the dust. Jim was thankful that Puma appeared not to be aware of the derringer in his sleeve, but he made no move for it at the moment. Puma was very pleased with himself.

"I thought I knew you, Gordon, even before you took off your whiskers, but I couldn't figure out from where. Knew your name wasn't Gaffney. Even after you shaved, it didn't come to me right away… till I started thinking about your pal there and remembered the two of you always work together."

"Sorry, Jim," Artie murmured. "I thought he was asleep."

"Almost was," Puma chortled, motioning with the scattergun that they should turn and move ahead of him. "Got to thinkin' I was wrong, and that Alvin sure wouldn't be sneaking out to meet a dead man. Fact is, I didn't hear you go out. Woke up all of a sudden and saw your bunk was empty, 'Alvin.' So I snuck out here. They don't call me after a cat for nothin'. I can be quiet-like when I put my mind to it. Kind of a problem, on account of I didn't hear all you two was saying just now. But no mind, you can tell the boss."

Upon gaining the area in front of the bunkhouse, Puma ordered them to halt. He pulled his pistol from its holster and fired it once in the air. Immediately an uproar could be heard within the bunkhouse and moments later the men in various stages of dress and undress piled out, all with guns in their hands, demanding to know what was happening. Jeb appeared from his cabin behind the bunkhouse, also with a weapon. Everyone gaped at not only their friend "Alvin" being held at gunpoint, but even more so at the Secret Service agent they had been assured was buried in the hills.

Puma, obviously enjoying every moment, told them they had to wait to hear the story. He could see lights in the main house now. Giles Lytell appeared through the front gate and stalked toward the group. He was fully dressed though in his shirtsleeves, and he carried a pistol.

"What the devil is…? James!" Lytell stopped short, peering toward the two men in the midst of the group.

"It's the two of them, Mr. Lytell," Puma stated. "He ain't Alvin Gaffney. He's Artemus Gordon, West's partner. Something they cooked up."

For a long moment, Lytell continued to stare, as if having difficulty accepting what he was seeing and hearing. Abruptly he moved forward, bringing the pistol he carried up and swinging it toward Jim. Startled by the movement, Jim tried to shift his arm to protect himself but he was too late. The gun barrel caught him alongside his head.

Artie cried out in anger and grabbed his partner's arm as Jim staggered, dazed by the blow. "That was pretty cowardly, Lytell!"

Lytell's face was twisted with rage. "Do you think I care, Gordon? He's one of the men who murdered my son! Jeb! Take them both into the house."

Lowry hesitated. "Why don't we just shoot them out here, boss?"

"Because I told you to take them inside. Someone get some rope from the barn."

Still stunned by the blow and his legs wobbly, Jim allowed his partner to continue to hold his arm as they were herded toward the main house. He could feel warm blood running down the side of his face and neck, and knew the skin had been broken. Lytell's reaction had been startling to say the least. One would not expect him to be happy to learn both partners had duped him, but the violence had been unexpected.

In the house, lamps were quickly lit and two straight-back chairs brought from the dining room. Both agents were pushed into those chairs and tied securely, their wrists pulled around behind. _No way for Jim to get at the knives in his coat or boot, let alone the sleeve gun,_ Artemus reflected sourly, though he noted that so far their legs were not bound and if they were left alone long enough, they might be able to maneuver around so that Jim's toe knife could be put to use.

Puma was proudly describing how he had suspected "Alvin Gaffney" from the start and his subsequent realization of the true identity of the gunhand. "I knowed he didn't likely kill West, and that they was cooking something up. So I kept my eyes open. Or mostly. Sorry I fell asleep and wasn't able to get out there in time to hear what they was talking about. Something to do with turning the horses loose."

Once again Lytell acted without warning, spinning to face Jim and slap him twice, hard, across the face. "James! If you want a quick and merciful death, tell me what the plans are."

Jim licked his stinging lips, tasted the salt of the blood from the new cut, but simply stared back at the father of one of his best friends. _Was the madness there, even back in Indiana? I do remember Hugh commenting that his father was quick-tempered, and sometimes unreasonable. But that was a private side, one never displayed to his employees, customers, or friends._

Artemus glanced worriedly at his friend. The cut on the head was clotting somewhat, the blood drying dark against Jim's cheek and neck. But now fresh scarlet was pouring from a cut on Jim's mouth. Lytell's rage, for the moment at least, was directed toward Jim West, but Artie wondered how long that would last, once Lytell began to realize how both men had duped him.

Lytell's eyes were burning with fury. "Tell me, James! I know you two have cooked up something. Was the story about your trip to the fort entirely false?"

Jeb Lowry spoke up. "He couldn't have made it to the fort and back. But he could have ridden down to Bisbee and sent a telegraph message."

"Hey," Jackie exclaimed, "there was that other fellow!"

Lytell looked around at the young gunslinger. "What fellow?"

"I know who he means," Errol spoke up. "Gambler that West was hanging around with in the Scarlet Ribbon."

Giles Lytell gazed at both his prisoners thoughtfully. "And as well, the saddle tramp who cut wood today. More agents?"

When both bound men remained silent, Puma stepped forward. "I might be able to loosen their tongues, Mr. Lytell."

"Just West for now," Lytell said, stepping back.

"Stop it! Stop it!" Artemus yelled moments later as Puma's large fists pummeled Jim's face and body. Blood streamed from cuts and livid bruises were quickly emerging, plus Jim obviously was having trouble catching his breath as Puma rammed his fists into his chest and stomach. The only reason the chair did not tip over with the force of his blows was because Fincher held it steady from behind.

"One moment," Lytell said calmly. Amazingly, Puma appeared to hear him, and stepped back, panting and perspiring. He had enjoyed his work. "Mr. Gordon, if you don't want to see James punished further, tell me what I need to know."

Artie looked at his partner. Jim was sagging forward, head down, secured by the bonds or he would have slumped to the floor. Gore dripped from his cuts to stain his trousers. "The man in the saloon was the same one who came here today," Artemus said quietly. "He is also an agent. Right now, he is contacting the military at Fort Challenge." A partial truth, one Artemus hoped would satisfy Lytell for the moment—but not to the point where he would dispose of his prisoners.

"What was the business about turning the horses loose?"

Artemus thought swiftly. "I was going to leave with Jim tonight, but we thought we'd better go on foot for awhile, for silence, and allow our horses to go free. We knew both horses would return when we whistled." _Well, Blackjack would; Mesa would probably just tag along_.

Lytell gazed at him thoughtfully. Puma was the one who spoke up. "He's lying, boss. Something else. West was saying that Gordon should be in his bunk come daylight."

Artie turned cold eyes to the big man. "You didn't hear the entire conversation, Puma. You admitted that."

"But I heard enough," Puma growled.

"Mr. Gordon will tell us the whole story," Lytell said conversationally. "He doesn't want to see his friend beaten to death."

With a chill on his spine, Artie knew he had to do some fast-talking and some slowing down of the situation. "Mr. Lytell, what is all this? Jim told me you had a fine reputation in Indiana. Your son…"

The calm expression on Lytell's face shifted rapidly to rage, eyes burning again. "What good is a fine reputation if it won't save your son's life? I begged Hugh not to go with them! But he had to, he said. He had to go with James and the others from school. They were his friends. Besides, he didn't want to miss the great adventure. It wasn't going to last long, he said."

"A lot of us thought that way," Artie said softly.

Lytell's fists came up, clenched, as he continued, apparently not even hearing the interruption. "But it went on and on… I told Hugh to come home. I could have bought him a substitute. He wouldn't hear of it. He could desert his… his _friends!_" He spat out the words, eyes going to the nearly unconscious Jim West. For an instant, Artemus thought Lytell was going to strike at Jim with those balled-up fists. Instead he just went on speaking.

"His letters were full of stories about his friends and his general. _His general!_ He raved on and on about how wonderful General Grant was and how General Grant was going to win the war. He wanted to be there at the end, he said. No thought for his father waiting for him at home, all alone. No thoughts at all!"

The voice became clearer in Jim West's head, as he returned to full consciousness. He did not try to straighten in the chair, sensing that remaining as though he was still out might be important. Giles Lytell was talking, and apparently about Hugh. _I could have told him, but never did, that Hugh was happier in the army than I ever saw him at college or at home. He seemed to have found his place in life… and talked about a military career._

Jim smothered a grunt of pain as he attempted to take a deep breath. He was sore all over, seemingly inside and out. Puma had done a job on him. _I hope I'm of some use if the opportunity arises…_

"When I got the telegraph message telling me Hugh had died," Lytell went on, "I knew that someday, somehow, I would make them all pay. I didn't know how in the beginning. I only knew I had to leave Indiana and the memories there. I think I would have exploded if I had not. So I came to Arizona and thought about it daily. As time went on, I began to realize that the best way to avenge myself on Grant was to take a piece of his precious Union away from him. As he took my son, I would take his country. And then, out of the blue, James West rode in. I could not have been happier to see him."

"We were assigned to come here," Artie said. "Your plans are not a secret." _Am I wrong? Is Jim rousing?_ He had noticed something different about his slumped partner, perhaps just the way he was breathing, for Jim had not really moved.

Lytell glared. "Who told you?"

Artemus shook his head. "I have no idea. The government learned of it. That's all that's important."

"No, that's not all. If there's a traitor in my organization, I want to know who it is." Lytell took a step toward Artemus. "Do you want to see James beaten further?"

"Mr. Lytell, at this point, if I knew, I would gladly tell you. I simply do not know." He met Lytell's stare directly and steadily. After a moment, Lytell moved back slightly. Artemus sighed an inward sigh of relief. _Sometimes being an actor does come in handy. Almost wish Jim hadn't told me about Juana. Where is she?_

No one appeared to be concerned about the housekeeper or the cook. Surely the two women had been aroused along with the men by Puma's gunshot. _It may well be the case, as with so many "gringos," that the servants are an invisible entity to Lytell. Similar to the way many southerners looked on their slaves, not giving the colored people any credit for intelligence and savvy. _

"Boss," Jeb spoke worriedly, "if the government knows…"

"Bah! He's just making up a story to stall," Lytell snarled.

"But the government sent them here," Lowry persisted. "We know about three. Might be more."

Giles Lytell glared at him. "Have there been any other strangers in the area?"

"Well, no. Not that I know. But this other one, the gambler type, he might have…"

Once again Lytell cut him off, this time with a chopping motion. "Then we need to be alert. Send a couple men into town to find the other one. Bring him here alive if you can, but kill him if he doesn't cooperate."

Now it was Jackie who voiced concern. "They are government men." His voice was low, almost inaudible, but Lytell heard and spun toward the young gunman.

"I took you on because I heard you had guts," Lytell raged. "Prove it and bring that other agent in."

"Yes, sir," Jackie muttered, glancing around, clearly hoping he was not going alone, and perhaps remembering Lytell's words to Lowry about killing the agent, something he fretted about.

Lowry spoke up and ordered one of the other men to accompany Jackie. "I heard he was staying at Mrs. Hatfield's, just like West, so if he ain't in the Ribbon, try there. And be careful. These federal men are all slick."

Once the pair had departed on their mission, Lytell turned his attention back to the captives. "Mr. Gordon, I am perfectly willing to allow Puma to beat James to death. Unless you want to watch that happen, I suggest you tell me all you know."

Artemus swallowed hard, hoping to lend the impression that he was experiencing apprehension, which he was, but not to the extent he wanted Lytell to believe. _I have no doubt Lytell would enjoy watching that spectacle just as much as Puma would enjoy enacting it. _"Mr. Lytell, I can only tell you we were sent here to investigate reports you were organizing a small army with the intent of terrorizing, and perhaps taking over, this part of the Southwest. I was not privy to the inside information nor, I'm sure, was my partner. We just take orders."

"And what did those reports have to say?"

"We were told that along with the men here on the ranch, you had a group being amassed in Mexico. Seventy-five to a hundred, I think the figure was." _No need to mention the additional hundred. That might lead him to thinking about the housekeeper and her knowledge._

"You were sent here in disguise to infiltrate."

"Yes. Jim remembered you from back east, and thus contacted you openly."

"Your amnesia. That was real?"

"Very real. I almost killed my partner for you."

Lytell's smile was ugly. "Too bad you woke up before that happened. All right, what does the government plan to do about me?"

Artie shrugged his shoulders. "We hadn't gotten that far. We would have sent a report to our commander within the next few days and been told what was next." He continued to keep his gaze direct, and though Lytell's eyes narrowed slightly, the story appeared to have been accepted.

Jim groaned loudly then, slowly lifting his head and gazing blearily around. The drying blood on his face was dark compared to the cuts that were still oozing gore. "Artie…" he muttered. He had decided to rouse, feeling that Artemus might need some support soon.

"I'm here," Artemus said, not entirely sure whether his partner was putting on an act or was truly that groggy.

"Good to see you awakening, James," Lytell said smoothly. "I was just telling Mr. Gordon that unless the two of you open up and inform me of all you know, I would set Puma on you again."

Jim allowed his eyes to flick toward the big man who was standing to one side, grinning widely, obviously eagerly anticipating the orders to move in again with his fists. "What… what…?"

"What do I want to know? How much _you_ and the government know about my plans."

Jim shook his head slightly and winced. _Thank goodness I was awake to hear what Artie told him._ "Not… much. The office had a report—an anonymous letter I guess—saying you were planning an uprising here. I… I didn't believe it." That much was certainly true.

Lytell's laugh was a harsh bark. "You always were something of an idealist, James. What else do you know?"

"Mostly what my partner and I have been able to dig up here. That it's all true." The sorrow in his voice and eyes were not pretense.

If Lytell saw the emotion, he ignored it. "What about the other man?"

"What other man?"

"The one I understand you rendezvoused with in Lockjaw… another agent."

"He's gone. He brought some information and is gone."

"The fellow that was here today," Jeb put in. "Or yesterday. The saddle tramp…" He glanced at a grandfather clock that revealed the hour to be close to dawn now.

"He told me to expect a visit from Jim tonight," Artie said firmly. He was experiencing much relief to realize that Jim had most certainly heard everything and was backing him up.

Lytell picked up on what Jim had said. "What information?"

Jim pretended confusion. "What?" He regretted the stalling tactic instantly, as Lytell backhanded him across the mouth, freshening the previous bruises and opening cuts.

"Don't play stupid with me, James. Don't forget, I know you. Perhaps we should turn the tables and allow Puma to give some attention to your friend."

Jim shook his head wearily. "No. Don't. He just came to tell us that Fort Challenge would be sending a squadron of men as soon as they got word from one of us."

"I take it that word has not been sent."

"No. I planned to ride to the nearest telegraph tomorrow. I was delayed… delayed because of my concern for Artemus, after learning he had been injured and lost his memory."

"So when you told me you were going to the fort, that was just a story?"

"Yes. I hoped you would send Alvin Gaffney after me, and you did. That part, at least, worked as planned." He sighed while dropping his gaze, hoping Lytell would see it as a sign of defeat.

Giles Lytell grabbed a handful of Jim's hair, jerking his head back up. Jim could not suppress a grunt of pain that the abrupt movement caused. "And what about tonight, James. Why did you come here?"

"To make more plans. Artemus and I had not been able to talk much today because of the need for him to return here, lest you send someone out looking for him."

Artemus watched Lytell as he continued to grasp Jim's hair and stare into his face, as though trying to read his mind. Then he released the hold and stepped back. "Dade! Go wake Juana and Alma. We'll have breakfast and get an early start for Fort Challenge. We can intercept Farias and the army on their way from the south."

"You want these two killed, boss?" Puma asked hopefully.

"Not yet. They'll be good hostages if the time comes. They're pretty secure where they are."

"Mr. Lytell!" The man Lytell had sent to rouse the women hurried back. "They ain't there! Beds are empty!"

"What the devil are you talking about?" Giles Lytell growled, heading for the doorway that led to the rear of the house. Every other man, including Puma, followed.

"Are you all right, Jim?" Artie asked quietly.

"I'll live… for the moment."

"Looks like Juana was wakened by the gunshot just like all the others, and got herself and the cook out of here. Hope they took horses and are long gone."

"Yeah. Artie, we've got to get loose."

"I know. But they are coming back."

The angry voices were audible, especially that of Giles Lytell. He was ordering the men to go out and search for the women, but as they entered the front room, Jeb Lowry was a more moderate voice. "Boss, we got other business today."

Lytell paused to look at his second in command. After a moment, the reasonableness of the remark seemed to set in. "Yes, you're right. They must have been frightened off. We can deal with them later." He continued across the room until he faced the prisoners again. "Was it one of the women?"

"One of the women what?" Artemus asked, feigning confusion. For an instant, he thought Lytell was going to strike him.

"Never mind. You'll talk later. As Lowry rightly points out, we have other business to deal with. Men, we'll have to have a makeshift breakfast. But we'll make up for it later, with a grand feast when our success is assured. The troops from Mexico will be in place and we must be there to meet and lead them."

"What about them?" Jeb asked, motioning toward the two bound agents.

"They'll keep too. Come on. We ought to be able to have some coffee and biscuits anyway."

Jim watched the group of men retreat through that rear door again then turned to his partner. "Artie, we should be able to move these chairs around so that I can use my boot knife to cut your ropes."

"And we'd better hurry," Artie replied, beginning to rock his chair. "Glad Lytell didn't decide to tie our feet!"

Within a couple of minutes they were able to shift their chairs so that Jim could elevate his leg and use the sharp knife that ejected from his boot toe on partner's bonds. As the rope began to fall away, Jim spoke quickly. "Artie, get the hell out of here. Find Frank and head for Fort Challenge. You should meet the patrol coming this way. Strategies might need changing."

Artie stood up, rubbing his wrists as he took a step toward his partner. "I'll get you loose…"

"No! There's no time! They might come back in here any minute. Get going. You can get your horse from the barn and be on your way before they realize what's going on. Go!"

"Jim, Lytell will…"

"He won't kill me. Not yet. You heard what he said about hostages. One is better than none. Move! Before it's too late."

Artemus Gordon saw the rock-hard expression on his partner's battered face and knew that arguing would be a waste of time in more ways than one. "I'll be back," he clipped, and raced out the front door.

Jim counted off the seconds as he waited, picturing his partner's pace toward the barn. He was pretty sure that Artie would have been in the barn in the midst of saddling the chestnut when Errol Fincher wandered back into the room, carrying a cup of coffee. For a moment he seemed not to notice anything amiss.

"Holy…! Boss! Boss! One of 'em's gone!" He spun, slopping his hot drink, cursing again as he started back toward the kitchen, only to collide with Jeb Lowry and spilling more coffee. Both men muttered oaths.

"Where's Gordon?" Lowry demanded, striding across the room.

Jim looked around. "He's gone? Son of a gun!"

Lytell led the remainder of his men into the room and barked orders for half of them to go find the missing man. Then he stood in front of Jim, eyes ablaze. "I don't know what you think you've accomplished, James."

"Hey," a man cried, picking up the ropes alongside the vacant chair, "these were cut! How'd that happen?"

Jim had retracted the knife back into his boot, and he gazed at the scene with interest. "I'll be darned. So he had a hidden knife."

"Are you saying Gordon deserted you, James? What a tragedy… for you."

Jim gazed up at Lytell. "Sometimes a fella just has to look out for himself." He expected the slap, tried to brace himself, but it hurt like hell anyway, atop the previous bruises and cuts.

"Where did he go, James? There must have been a special reason for haste. I know enough about you and your partner to be aware he would not have willingly left you behind."

"I think he said something about getting breakfast in Lockjaw."

Lytell raised his hand again, and Jim West winced involuntarily. The hand was lowered. "Somehow, James, I'm getting the impression that the story you and your partner handed us was not exactly the truth. Now you're going to tell me the real story."

"There's nothing more to tell. Artemus took advantage of an opportunity to escape. There wasn't time to free me to accompany him."

"So he left without you? No, James. There's more to it than that. He's gone to warn someone, or at least make contact with someone. At Fort Challenge?"

Errol Fincher entered them. "Boss, he took his horse and vamoosed. You want us to follow?"

Giles Lytell stood silently for a long moment, staring at Jim, who met his gaze unflinchingly. Then he slowly shook his head. "No. Waste of time right now. James will tell us what we need to know. Get Puma."

W*W*W*W*W

Artemus leaned forward, urging the lathered horse with both his voice and his heels. Deciding he did not have time to go to Lockjaw for Harper, he had been riding for nearly an hour before he finally spotted the dust cloud in the early dawn light that indicated a large group of horsemen. _Has to be the boys from Fort Challenge!_ If their information was correct, Lytell's Mexican legion would be heading for Fort Challenge, or at least to a rendezvous point with Lytell near the fort, not heading for the ranch itself.

He forced himself to not think too much about the partner he had left behind. He knew Jim had been correct. Speed was of the essence. The seconds necessary to free him might have made the difference in being caught again or leaving.

He also believed that Jim had been correct when he said that Lytell would not kill him. _I have to believe that!_ Certainly Lytell realized that they had not told him the true story of what they knew. Puma…

Artie pushed the thoughts away as he began to make out the forms of men and horses on the road ahead. One apparently espied him and urged his horse forward at a faster pace, so that the two men met at a halfway point, pulling up to talk. Artemus recognized a young captain from the fort.

"Captain Reed! Thank heavens you are prompt."

"What's going on, Mr. Gordon? I was given to understand that no urgency was required."

"Things have changed," Artie replied, and tersely informed the officer of what had occurred during the night.

The captain's face grew very somber. "So he's likely to hold Mr. West as a hostage."

"I'm sure of it. The most important thing right now is to get back to the ranch and surround it, not to let anyone leave. If the authorities there have not already taken care of it, the force coming from Mexico will be waiting for Lytell to lead them. Colonel Roper will have to deal with them."

Reed nodded. "He took a double squad out in that direction about the same time we left the fort. Can you guide us back, Mr. Gordon? Both you and your horse look beat."

"We can do it," Artie assured him, patting the chestnut's neck.

W*W*W*W*W

Jim West's world was a painful haze and he fought to comprehend what was happening to him. After passing out under the onslaught of Puma's fists, he had come to consciousness aware that he was no longer inside the ranch house, and that cool air was washing over his skin. His arms were stretched above him, his shoulders aching with the weight of his body.

"Well, James, how does it feel to have a front row seat?"

Jim squinted toward the shape that seemed to be slightly below him. As his vision began to clear, he realized that he was looking at Giles Lytell, who was standing on the ground, while he himself was suspended several feet above. He looked up and saw that his wrists were lashed to the arch that hung over the main gate to the ranch area, his arms spread from one side to the other.

His shirt had been removed, but he did not need to look at his own body to be aware of the bruises there. Breathing hurt, and so did his mouth when he tried to form words. _Can't tell if anything is broken. Everything hurts so much it feels like nothing is in one piece anymore._

He finally was able to whisper hoarsely. "What's the plan?"

Lytell chuckled. "Well, you refused to tell us anything, so we have to be prepared for everything. No doubt your fleeing partner is bringing a posse of some sort, perhaps even the military. So you will be our welcoming committee. We'll all be right behind you. They won't dare shoot lest they hit you."

"That won't stop them," Jim croaked. His throat and mouth were very dry, and he was sure that movement of his lips had started them bleeding again.

"Perhaps not. I'm sure it will give them pause in any case. But if my plans are going to fail, they are going down in spectacular flames, James. I will have the pleasure of seeing at least one of my son's murderers die by my hand. I will have my gun trained on the back of your head, and if it's the last thing I do, I will pull the trigger so as to die with the sight of your death as my last vision."

"Mr. Lytell!" Jim heard a man come running up behind him. Though he could not see who it was, the voice sounded like Lowry. "We can see a couple men coming. Must be Jackie and Spade."

"Just the two of them?"

"Yes, sir. Looks like it."

Lytell scowled. "Then either they didn't find the other agent or they killed him. Bring them to me at once then get back to your lookout." He stalked toward the house.

Jim saw the two riders near and how they stared at him. His suspended body was pretty much blocking the gateway. The pair exchanged a few words, then dismounted and led their horses through the gate, brushing by Jim.

"What's going on?" Jackie inquired of the waiting Jeb.

"Boss will tell you. Come on."

Jim closed his eyes and willed his body to stop experiencing the agony that every move, every breath caused. They had not discovered his boot knife, but he also was unsure whether he could manage the contortions necessary to bring his feet up close enough to the ropes securing him. The beating he had taken had not only been painful, but debilitating. He suspected that even if he was able to free himself, he might not have the strength to go very far. _I'd sure as hell like to try!_ Most importantly, if he could get loose, he would no longer be an obstruction for Artemus and whatever help he brought.

He wished Lytell had chosen to speak out here to the two men just returned, so that he could have learned what if anything had occurred regarding Frank Harper. As far as Jim knew, Frank had planned to remain in the area awaiting word from his fellow agents, but whether he was in town or out in the desert was anyone's guess. If they had caught Frank unawares… _No, Frank's too good an agent. Especially now, he'll be on alert. _

Hearing new shouts somewhere behind him, Jim attempted to turn his head to see what the commotion was about, but the movement was too painful. His arms felt as though they were about to tear apart from his shoulders. The bright morning sun was now warm on his body, increasing his thirst. He knew asking for water would be futile. Lytell would not allow it.

"What's going on!" Jeb called from somewhere not too far away. He must have been returning after taking the two men to the house.

After a moment, Jim heard footsteps and a gasping man's words. "We can see dust out there. Hell of a lot of horses coming this way. Think it's the boss's men from Mexico?"

"No," Lowry replied slowly. "They're supposed to wait south of Fort Challenge. Go back up on the roof. I'll get Lytell."

Jim peered toward the horizon, but saw nothing. The watchers from the roof—probably the barn roof—had a better vantage point. _Could be the troops from the fort, perhaps with Artie. _Jim lifted his gaze to the ropes that were securing him to the wrought iron archway. Sturdy ropes that did not give any indication they would give way easily. _Somehow I've got to get loose so that the army—and Artemus—will not worry about hitting me._

He could hear the murmur of voices behind him. If he attempted to contort his body to cut the ropes, if such a feat was at all possible in his condition, he would be seen and stopped. Artie knew he was here, and that he was undoubtedly still a captive.

_The ten or so men here could do a good job of holding off twenty or thirty soldiers, especially if the soldiers are hampered by being unable to return fire because of their fear of hitting me. Somehow I've got to get loose…_ The question was how.

W*W*W*W*W

"You sure you're all right, Frank?"

The lean agent nodded, his smile somewhat strained, but a smile nonetheless. "You Yankees hit me harder at Gettysburg."

"Not me!" Artemus protested. "I wasn't there!"

Frank Harper grinned briefly, then settled back against the rock behind him. "With a bum right arm, I can't do much shooting, but I can help load."

Artie gazed at him for a long moment. They had removed his jacket to treat the wound in Frank's arm, and the rough bandage seemed to be staunching the flow of blood. Harper's shirt was dark with the gore on that side. Frank told them that two men had waylaid him as he led his horse out of Mrs. Hatfield's barn. He had been hit when he leapt into the saddle to escape.

Artemus had then related what had happened to him and Jim, and how Lytell figured out that the third man was also an agent. "Sure glad you weren't hurt worse, Frank. But they still have Jim."

"Mr. Gordon," a private appeared from around the rocks that were sheltering Gordon and Harper from the view of the ranch buildings ahead, "Captain Reed would like to speak to you."

"Thank you," Artie said, climbing to his feet. "Relax a bit, Frank. I'll be back."

He found the captain lying behind another row of boulders, these not quite as large as the ones behind them where Harper was, along with the picket line of horses. As Artie dropped down beside the officer, Reed handed him the powerful telescope he had been peering through. Not sure of what he was going to see, Artie lifted the scope to his eye and groaned aloud.

"Oh my God."

"That's going to hamper things, Mr. Gordon. We can spread out around the sides and rear, but we're going to be mighty thin. You said there's a dozen men in there?"

"At least ten that I know of," Artie replied. "I have no way of knowing if any arrived after I escaped." He forced himself to look through the telescope again. Though with the naked eye, the scene was too far away to fully see, the powerful scope brought the vista much, much closer. Close enough to note the livid bruises and streaks of dried blood on Jim's face and upper body. He saw his partner's head sagging, and wondered if Jim was conscious. Even as the thought moved through his mind, Jim lifted his head and appeared to be looking around.

"This seems to be our closest vantage point on this side," Reed said then. "The men I had doing the reconnoitering report there's a cluster of rocks to the east, and some trees behind the house that are closer by about fifty yards."

Artemus was silent a long moment before he spoke. "We have to get Jim out of there."

"I don't see how, Mr. Gordon," the captain replied. "If they see us coming, they are going to kill him. And they will see a direct charge from the front."

"I know," Artie muttered. He lifted the glass again. Someone was now standing alongside Jim, apparently talking to him. _Lytell._ _He said he'd use us as hostages, and that's just what he's done with Jim. Even if the army surrounds the place, Lytell will still hold the upper hand, as long as he holds Jim West, and Jim is alive._ _If Lytell realizes he's losing…_

Artemus forced himself not to consider that option for the moment, lowering the scope again. "What do you estimate the distance is to that gate, captain?"

"Five hundred yards at least. More probably."

Again Artie fell silent, staring into the distance. Now that he knew what to look for, he could make out Jim's form suspended in the middle of the gate's arch with his naked eyes. _Jim may have his toe knife if Lytell didn't discover it. But that would be one hell of a trick, especially in his condition, to be able to get his foot up there to saw through the ropes. Not to mention he would be seen doing it._

"Captain, do you have any sharpshooters in this bunch of men?"

Reed looked at him in some surprise. "No. I mean, all of them know what to do with their carbines, but I wouldn't consider any of them sharpshooters. Sergeant Case, back at the fort, is the best shot at Fort Challenge. What are you thinking?"

"We've got to free Jim somehow. Hang on."

Artemus scrambled back to where the horses were pegged out, and went to his chestnut. _Thank the Lord I did not return the rifle to the bunkhouse._ He had left the "best rifle on the ranch" in his saddle boot. A Sharps .45 "buffalo gun," he had been told, and as Alvin Gaffney had been urged to use it to down the federal agent he had been sent out to kill.

Captain Reed stared open-mouthed as Artemus returned, cradling the large weapon. "Mr. Gordon! What… what do you plan to do?"

Artie exhaled noisily. "I'm going to try to shoot through the ropes securing Jim to that gate."

Reed gaped at him a moment, then grabbed the telescope to peer through it. Lowering the glass, he was shaking his head. "Mr. Gordon, there's about six inches, no more than nine, of rope between Mr. West's hands and the arch. If you're not true…"

Artemus Gordon nodded grimly. "I could take off his hand with this thing. But I have to, Captain. Jim doesn't stand a chance, one way or another. I'm sure Lytell has orders out for him to be killed if the place is overrun. If I can free him by shooting through the ropes, at least the odds will improve. The surprise will work in his favor as well."

"Well, yes. Very true. But he doesn't look to be in very good shape. If you… when you break the rope on one side, he's going to swing down and hit the other side."

Artie flinched inwardly, realizing the agony such a fall could cause to his partner's battered body. "I have to, Captain. First of all, you need to get your men into position and draw attention away from the front gate. If you can lay down a heavy fire, everyone will be busy protecting themselves, not watching Jim." _Except for Giles Lytell. Who can say what that madman will do?_

W*W*W*W*W

Human madness is oftentimes a cunning and most feline thing. When you think it fled, it may have but become transfigured into some still subtler form.

— Herman Melville (1819–1891), American author

"You see, James? Already they are hesitating. They are up in those rocks, and I'm sure can see you."

Jim stared coldly at the man on the ground below him. "They'll come, don't you worry. Why don't you just surrender and save a lot of bloodshed?"

"No. Oh no. My plans may be in wrack and ruin, but I'm going to have the last laugh. President Grant's pet agent will be dead. That will be my revenge. You murdered Hugh and you're going to pay, James."

Jim knew it would be pointless to argue about why Hugh had refused his father's pleas to leave the army to return home. Giles Lytell was insane, and no reasoning was going to penetrate that insanity. His best bet would have been to talk to Lowry and the other men, but they were already at their posts, ready to receive the army when the fight began. They were mercenaries, after all, being paid to fight, whether or not they believed in Lytell's cause.

Lytell had turned and was staring out toward the cluster of rocks a quarter mile or so away. Jim had seen movement out there, as well as the glint of the morning sun on weaponry. The army was out there. Was Artie with them?

"Your friends are watching, James. I'm sure they realize that they cannot attack from this, the best vantage point lest they harm you. I wonder what they are thinking."

"That you are a fool, Lytell. You're going to die, or at least be captured and sent to prison. So will your men. The army you accumulated in Mexico is being rounded up by American and Mexican forces."

Lytell looked back up at Jim. "Tell me who the spy was." When Jim remained silent, Lytell went on. "I'm guessing Juana. I know she was not happy with my plans. A wife is supposed to bow to her husband's wishes, is she not?"

"Wife!" Jim West could not have been more astonished.

"Oh yes. I was still a fairly young man when I came here a dozen or so years ago. Juana was a lovely young woman when I hired her. She refused to… accept me without the honor of marriage. So we had an arrangement for a while. We married, but did not advertise it. Only Alma, who is Juana's cousin, knows. The mere fact that both women ran away makes be believe one is guilty, and because Juana is more educated… well, it makes no difference now."

Jim gazed at the man. Indeed, he appeared to be quite unperturbed with the idea that his wife betrayed him. He also seemed to be calmly accepting that his grand plans for an empire were falling apart. If one did not know better, his demeanor was of a man who was disappointed over some minor event.

"Lytell," he began, intending to try to reason with him in this mood.

Lytell's gaze sharpened. "You seem to have forgotten your manners, James. I expect I need to teach you some." He spun and strode back toward the buildings.

W*W*W*W*W

Artemus Gordon lay flat on his stomach, resting the large and powerful rifle in the cradle he had created by moving several small rocks to positions in front of him. The weapon did not have a telescopic sight, so he was attempting to create one with the captain's glass, quite aware of the importance of having it set up perfectly. If not, he could hit Jim's hand or arm, or even worse, his head. At this distance, an errant shot… All the computations he had worked out regarding the distance, the power of the eyeglass, the telescope's diameter as it rested against the barrel of the gun… those would be for naught unless his own skill came in to play.

He forced himself not to think too much about the consequences. The fact was that if he was unable to free his partner from the ropes that suspended him from the gate, Jim was likely going to be killed by someone within the compound. _I'm a good shot, better than Jim in some situations. But I've never attempted one like this. Not with such a weapon, not at such a distance... and not with such possible dire consequences._

Hearing footsteps, Artemus looked to see a perspiring young corporal approaching. The men who were surrounding the house had gone on foot in an attempt to be as invisible as possible. This was one of those men, obviously having rushed back after seeing the troops to their vantage points.

"Captain," he saluted briefly, "everyone is in place."

Artie's stomach tightened as Reed looked his way. As soon as the firing started from other areas, drawing attention away from Jim—one hoped—Artie's job would begin. Silently he took one more look through the telescope carefully tied to the rifle barrel with scarves and bootlaces… and cursed aloud.

"The bastard!"

"What is it?" Reed demanded. He peered over the rocks toward the ranch. "He's whipping West?"

"With a riding crop," Artie grated. He sighted through the scope again. "Damn it! He's moving around too much for me to get a shot at him!" He could see Jim's body arch with the renewed pain of the slashing whip atop his other injuries, especially when it struck his bared stomach. Then, as Artemus watched, Jim West slumped against the supporting ropes, his head dropping. Only then did Lytell cease—at which time he turned and stared out toward the rocks.

All Artemus's willpower was required to keep from jumping up to shout curses. Quite patently Lytell had known that his actions were being observed, and that the watchers could do nothing to stop him. With a mocking wave of the crop, he turned and walked back toward the house.

"Now, Captain Reed," Artie grated. "Now!"

Reed nodded to the corporal, who pulled his pistol and fired it into the air twice. Almost instantly, echoing reports sounded from beyond the ranch buildings, which were answered by shots from within the structures.

Artemus Gordon squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds, then opened them. _I'm sorry, partner, but this is the only way I can come up with._

W*W*W*W*W

Jim did not move when he heard the gunfire begin. He had feigned passing out under the onslaught of the whip, although not much of an acting job had been required. The fire of the agony caused by the brutal attack was going to cause unconsciousness soon anyway, so by faking it, he had taken some of the pleasure away from Lytell. In fact, Lytell had cursed soundly when he believed his victim was no longer sensible to the pain.

He was also aware that no gunfire was coming from the area in front of him. So Lytell won that aspect of his plans. His men could concentrate on the other three sides, and from the sounds reverberating behind him, Jim was aware that the exchange was hot and heavy. How long Lytell could hold out might depend on the availability of ammunition and the dedication of his hired men. He also had no doubt that Giles Lytell had positioned himself somewhere behind him so as to have a clear shot at his prisoner.

Jim had just lifted his head slightly to gaze out toward the distant rocks when he saw a puff of smoke. An instant later his body was swinging loose from the right, and slammed into the side of the arch, as he hung by his left arm only. The agony the collision caused was all but unbearable, but somewhere in his mind came the command to remain still. This was Artemus's doing.

He became aware of angry shouts behind him just as the rope on his left wrist broke loose. Jim West crumpled in the dust and fought to gain control of his weakened and pain-wracked body. Sheer will overcame the adversities as he grasped the side of the arch to pull himself erect, taking one look behind him before he started moving toward the distant rocks. Giles Lytell had emerged from the front of the house, gun in hand, and was striding toward him.

Artemus Gordon leaped to his feet bringing the rifle with him the moment Jim fell completely free of the arch. He saw Jim climb erect and then start forward in a shambling gait, as though any moment he could collapse again. He then saw the small figure of another man behind Jim.

With almost no forethought, Artemus started running, carrying the bulky rifle. Lytell was gaining on Jim, the pistol raised, and Artie realized he himself could not risk another shot right now. _I have to be nearer to make sure I don't hit Jim when I try for Lytell._

Jim stumbled and fell, managed to get to his feet, but gained only a few yards before he fell again. This time he knew he did not have the strength to rise again, so he rolled onto his back, ready to take on the man behind him. Lytell stopped a dozen feet away, lifting the pistol he held to point directly at Jim's head.

"I'm glad you are conscious, James. I want to see your eyes the moment the bullet strikes. The fatal bullet."

"Give it up," Jim gasped. "You don't have murder on your ticket yet."

"You think I care whether I hang? Nothing matters now. All my dreams are gone. My only regret is that it is unlikely your partner Gordon will be joining you. However, I plan to stay alive as long as possible, in the hope that an opportunity will arise to kill him as well. But they won't hang me. Nor send me to prison. I'll be joining Hugh."

"I doubt that," Jim grated. "Not where you're going."

Lytell's smile was ugly. "Then perhaps you'll tell him for me. Tell him that I avenged his death with yours."

"He won't thank you." Jim was unsure what good talking would do, except he needed to stall. Someone had amazingly fired a weapon from a great distance to sever his bonds. That someone—Artemus?—must be out there somewhere, watching this. _I have to try to give them time to act._

Lytell took a step toward him, the pistol still aimed directly at Jim's head. "You'll die for all of them, James. For Grant, for all the so-called friends who forced Hugh to enlist and then would not allow him to leave…"

"We had nothing to do with it," Jim stated. "When Hugh showed us your letters, we urged him to go home. He refused. He said his home was in the army."

"You liar!"

Jim West braced himself as he saw the finger begin to squeeze the trigger. He knew he did not have the strength remaining to even attempt to roll out of the way. The beating, the whipping, and the fall against the arch, followed by the brief attempt to escape, had taken every ounce of stamina he owned. This was it. _Thanks for trying, Artie._

He saw the sudden explosion of red on Lytell's shirtfront an instant before he heard the report of the powerful rifle from somewhere behind him. Giles Lytell staggered backwards, an expression of pure surprise on his face, then his knees buckled and he crumpled to the ground. Jim stared, open mouthed, wondering if he was having some kind of death dream. He had heard that one's life flashed before one's eyes at the moment of death. Did a hopeful vision also occur?

"Jim! Jim!"

Artemus's voice penetrated the haze in his mind and Jim looked around to see the form racing across the desert toward him. Funny, the form seemed to have an extra arm. Then things started to go dark again. Just as strong arms wrapped around his body, blackness closed in.

W*W*W*W*W

"Better?"

Jim West leaned his head back against the pillow after drinking deeply from the tumbler of water his partner had held to his lips. "Yeah. I'm okay."

_Okay? _Artie did not smile, though he felt like it. Jim's body was covered with bruises and welts, his face not much better. With the help of soldiers, he had carried Jim into the ranch house and placed him in a bed in a room Artie suspected had belonged to Giles Lytell, by the appointments. A large and comfortable room with a large and comfortable bed. Shouting could still be heard outside as the military continued to round up the remaining men; most had thrown down their arms as soon as they realized their boss was dead. Who was going to pay them now?

"I'm pretty sure there's nothing broken," Artie said, "but I won't swear to whether you have a cracked rib or two or not. I'm going to take you to Bisbee and the doctor there…"

"Artie, I'm fine."

"The doctor there," Artemus continued firmly, "can check you more closely. Frank needs some attention too." He glanced at the man sitting quietly in a corner chair, clutching his arm.

"You all right, Frank?" Jim asked.

"Yeah," the gambler growled. "Stupid business. I took a bullet in my arm when Jackie and Slade surprised me in Lockjaw. Really only a nick. Just hurts like hell."

"How's _your_ arm?" Jim looked at his partner with concern.

Artie did smile now. "It's fine, Jim."

"Some fine shooting."

"Just be glad I didn't take off your hand or worse."

Jim smiled. "I wouldn't have worried even if I knew what you were up to."

A trifle embarrassed, Artemus glanced around. "I wonder what will become of this place now."

"I expect it will go to his wife."

"His wife?" Frank echoed, the words catching his attention.

Artie frowned. "I thought you said she died."

Quickly Jim told them what he had learned. "I think it'll be a fine reward for Juana for her courage in notifying the government what was going on here, whether she decides to run the ranch or sell it."

"I asked the lieutenant to send a couple of men into town to make sure the women got there safely, and to escort them back here if they want to come back," Artie said. "Of course, I did not know at that time that she was the widow. Strange business." Artemus folded his arms and gazed down at his friend. "He went mad, Jim. The loss of his son…"

"No. I'm pretty sure now it wasn't a sudden thing. I think Hugh was aware. He once told me that the man we usually saw was not the one he knew at home, but didn't elaborate. I didn't think it was that serious at the time. He did not want to leave the army to go back to his father. Lytell merely used Hugh's death as an excuse."

Artie shook his head sadly. "By the way, of the ten men here, three were injured, but only one was killed in the foray. Puma."

Jim's eyes went cold. "No great loss."

"My sentiments exactly."

Jim's expression changed then, a mischievous, boyish smile replacing the icy memories of what Puma had done to him. "By the way, _Alvin_, there's a lady in Lockjaw who is going to need a long and thorough explanation."

Artie winced. "Yes, I've thought about Dory. I tried to discourage her in the beginning, but you know, she was so taken by my obvious charms that it became inevitable." He grinned widely. "Look, I'm going to go get some water and something to use for bandages. You have some nasty cuts. Maybe I can find some salve too. Something to help prevent infection until we can get you to the doctor."

"I don't need a doctor, Artie. And I don't need a nurse!"

"You're going to get both, pal. And don't you even think about getting off that bed."

James West was glaring at him as he left the room. Twenty minutes later when he returned with a basin of hot water, some cloths, and a tin of salve he had found in a kitchen drawer, Frank Harper motioned to him to be silent. Artemus smiled as he gazed upon the sleeping man on the bed. _I'll wait awhile by working on Frank first, for you need the sleep as much as you need the salve. Rest well, pal._

**Epilog**

A little over a week later the agents were able to return to the Wanderer. Jim was still very sore, but insisted he was able to ride. Frank Harper went with them, partially because his still aching wounded arm prevented him from returning to active duty immediately, but also because he felt Artemus needed some backup in preventing Jim from overdoing it. He claimed more weakness than he was actually feeling, thus necessitating frequent rests and early camps at night. If Jim suspected his friends' conspiracy, he never gave a sign. He even submitted to his partner's insistence on spreading the salve the doctor provided on the still healing cuts and bruises. He had not, an astonished doctor decided, suffered any cracked or broken ribs.

Juana Santiago Lytell produced a valid marriage certificate. Giles Lytell had not left a will, or at least none was found, so a judge quickly ruled that Juana was the legal heir to the Circle L. She admitted that early on she had been quite fond of her husband, even believed that she loved him. But as time went on, she recognized his increasing madness and even thought about leaving. However, especially when he began to talk about conquering the Southwest, she decided to remain on the ranch in order to help her family and friends if she possibly could.

Giles had never evinced any suspicion of her or, apparently, doubted her loyalty; Juana came to realize that that was due to his bias against her gender as well as her nationality. Thus she had been able to send the messages to the authorities almost without fear of reprisal. Alma, her cousin, had not known of the actions until the very end, when they heard the gunshots outside and Juana knew it was time to leave.

Juana apologized to Artemus for not being as gentle as she might have been when she treated his injury. "I thought you had murdered the one chance we had to prevent great bloodshed and turmoil." Artie just grinned and thanked her for her commendation of his acting ability.

The armies of both nations rounded up a good portion of the men Lytell had amassed as his own military force. Authorities soon realized that many of those men were wanted on both sides of the border. That would take a while to sort out, but in the meanwhile, civilian and military jails in Sonora and Arizona Territory were bulging with the captured men. Colonel Roper from Fort Challenge drily thanked the agents for adding to the fort's workload then commended them for their success in halting what could have developed into a major conflict with much loss of life.

Jim West continued to experience a sense of sadness when he thought about his old school friend Hugh Lytell and the good times they had had before the war. He could not say, of course, whether Giles Lytell's madness would have evinced itself in other ways eventually, even had his son lived, but certainly Hugh's death had not helped matters. Yet Hugh's choice had been to remain with the army, even if it cost him his life, which it did.

"I mourned Hugh," he told Artie and Frank one evening as the train drew near Kansas City. "He was a fine man and a wonderful friend. I wasn't the only one who thought he had prospects of an excellent future in the military. However, I'm almost glad he did not live to see it, regardless of how his father's insanity might have showed up one day."

"We'll never know what would have happened," Artemus said softly. "Even Loveless can't predict the future."

Jim had to smile. "Not yet anyway."

_Vita enim mortuorum in memoria vivorum est posita._

[The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living.]

— _Philippicoe (IX, 5),_ Cicero (Marcus Tullius Cicero; 106 BC-43 BC)

**THE END**


End file.
